


Intertwined

by amukmuk



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blood and Injury, Din is an FBI agent and Omera is a first grade teacher, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Major Character Injury, They are both great parents who love their babies, eventual mandomera, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 75,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amukmuk/pseuds/amukmuk
Summary: Din and Omera navigate life as single parents after they both experience life-altering trauma.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Winta (Star Wars), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Winta (Star Wars), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Omera (Star Wars)
Comments: 323
Kudos: 234





	1. The Tipping Point

They sit in the back of the van, tense with thick silence as they prepare for entry. Everyone has their own preparation methods, and for Din, it is holding tightly to his modest, gold crucifix and praying for a smooth operation. Today, he specifically prays for his own safety as it is his first raid since the adoption and all he wants is to return to his little boy.

Before long, the van comes to a halt and the doors slide open, everyone piling out of the sides. “We know the target, take him alive, move out,” they hear the voice of their commander crackle through their headsets.

In typical SWAT fashion, the six-member team moves steadily to the door of the abandoned-looking warehouse. It is, however, not all abandoned. Inside, lays one of the largest human trafficking hubs in the city as well as the organization head. Their team has enough evidence to convict, all they have to do is successfully raid the hub and apprehend the target.

Sometimes, that is easier said than done.

Din moves forward, rifle cradled against his shoulder and the other five members of his team follow close behind. Approaching the door, he motions for their resident breaking-and-entering expert, Iggy, to move forward. The tall, skinny, man did as such and they all waited for the count down. “On my mark,” the voice buzzes again.

“3.” Din tightens his grip on his rifle.

“2.” Iggy glances over at him.

“1.” Din nods, Iggy breaks the door down, and organized chaos ensues.

Downstairs at the front entrance, pops are already sounding off as human traffickers engage with the other assault team. Din’s team, moving like a well-oiled machine, break off into two-man teams to cover the ground they had been ordered to search. Din and his partner smoothly descend the steps, looking for the rear office where they have a good hunch the Target will be if he hasn’t already tried to make a break for the exit. They move together with the fluidity of two people who could read each other’s minds and anticipate their actions before it was happening.

So, when a man jumps from behind some crates in the warehouse, Cara is not surprised when Din quickly disarms him and throws him to her for incapacitation. She wraps her thick arms around the attacker’s neck and waits for him to go limp while Din peers around the corner, rifle cocked to shoot first, ask questions later. When he hears her toss the body aside with a huff, he turns his head as a question, and she gives him a curt nod in response. Re-shouldering her weapon, they take off again, weaving through the crates with a practiced precision. In the distance, they listen to more pops being fired off and the yelling of angry human traffickers. They had memorized the route to the office and when they arrive, they are a little surprised to find the Target is still in there, just waiting to be arrested.

“FBI, don’t move,” Din announces as they approach the door.

“Oh, I know who you are,” the Target states, his voice lilting with unnecessary theatrics.

“Then put your hands on your head and slowly move towards the wall,” Din commands. He and Cara both still have their rifles trained on him; they have orders to take him alive, but given his crimes, both of them are tempted to shoot him in the kneecap and say he tried to make a run for it. Not that they can’t catch an old man in a foot chase but kneecapping a sex-trafficker is just so much more… satisfying.

As the Target raises his hands, Din’s eyes widen in horror. There is a bomb vest hidden under his jacket. At first, Din had just thought it to be a bulletproof vest, but now he can clearly see the several explosives strapped to his sides. In the Target’s hand is the remote, held above his head as he has been instructed.

“Woah, that’s a lot of fire power there, pal,” Din says as he lowers his rifle slightly.

Cara does not do the same. Her eyes dart around, desperately searching for a window that she already knows won’t be there. She speaks softly into the mic on her vest. “This is Agent Dune, we have a situation, over.”

“Describe situation, over,” her headset crackles.

“Bomb vest. Djarin is attempting to de-escalate, over.”

“I know what happens to men like me in prison, men who have bought and sold children and I do not care to partake in those sorts of nefarious proceedings.”

Din has several retorts to that, but calmly says, “That doesn’t have to be you.”

The Target tightens his grip on the remote. “I am aware of what I have done. I’ve purchased females and their progeny from impoverished worlds with the baseless promise of a better life.”

Din lowers his rifle completely, holding up his hands in surrender. Cara pushes herself into the butt of her rifle further, body rigid. There is no way this guy is getting out of here. She can, maybe, get the shot. She has a clear view of his head, but she isn’t certain she could before he presses the detonator. Djarin is standing too close, he’d be caught in the explosion – and there is only so much their body armor can save them from. The Target’s eyes flash to her, clearly noticing that she is planning a headshot, and Din steps between them, effectively blocking her chance.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. “Look at me.”

The Target does.

“We don’t want you. We _need_ you. We need you to help us to get to your boss. We know you didn’t want this.”

“No.”

“It’s okay,” Din took a small, half-step forward.

“Are you able to guarantee my freedom from an incarcerated existence?”

Cara feels Din pause, he can’t make those promises, but he is a certified negotiator – he could make _other_ promises.

“Let my partner go notify our team. We’ll get a lawyer on the phone and we’ll make a deal.”

Or he could do that. At first, she sees red with anger. How dare he, her partner for two years, try and get her out of harm’s way. No, wait. That’s never been his motive, they’re _equals_ . Moving like he’s trying to get a better grip on his rifle, she watches his shoulder twitch upward and then back like he’s rotating it. Glancing up, she sees a catwalk just above her that would give her a clear shot through the office window. He is setting her up to be his sniper, to take the shot when he is ready, or when negotiations are no longer.

“No, you both stay.”

“Haven’t you hurt enough women?” A risky move, playing to the empathy of a human trafficker, but it works. Slowly, the Target nods.

Din turns to Cara and hands her his rifle as a sign of good faith. They share a brief look and nod. Turning on her heel, she leaves, walking as if she is going to the back exit. Instead, she snakes back around to the catwalk.

“Dune moving to sniper nest. Permission to take the shot, over?”

“Negative. Do not kill. We need him alive. Over.”

She huffs. She will take the shot anyway if it means saving her partner.

~

“Thank you,” Din says to the Target.

“Are you two close?” He asks, sweat beginning to collect on his brow.

“She’s my partner,” Din answers neutrally.

The man nods.

“Do you have a wife and children?” Din asks to try and keep him talking.

“No… no one to miss me if I were to…” he laughs at the vest. “Spontaneously combust.”

“Maybe not, but your life is not meaningless. Your testimony could help save so many lives.”

The man chortles. “Is that what you believe?”

Feeling the situation slipping from his grasp, Din takes a small step backward, “I know.”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Din.”

“You see, Din, I’ve been in this business for quite some time and I happen to know when I’m being lied to.”

Din says nothing, but he can hear his pulse in his ears. Mustering his voice, he replies, “I’m not lying to you.”

“If you live, tell your partner that I’m sorry.”

“No!” Din shouts, not sure which way to stumble, forward to try and grab the detonator or backward to get out of the room.

~

She is barely one step up the ladder when the reverberation of the blast knocks her sideways. Ears ringing, she blinks a few times, before scrambling to her feet. “Djarin!” She bellows, darting through the crates with reckless abandon. Just outside the office fire, she finds his body splayed out, covered in blood. “No!” She gasps, her vision tunneling as she sprints towards him. Hauling him up by his vest, she shouts into the mic, “Agent Dune, calling for medevac, stat!”

Din isn’t a particularly large man, but right now with all of his dead weight, he is fucking _heavy_.

“Cara,” he groans.

She kicks open the door and hauls him outside. In the light of day, she can see his chest looks like minced meat, his face is covered in scratches from debris and blood is _everywhere_.

“Stay with me buddy,” she pleads. Ripping open his already shredded vest, she tries to find the source of the bleeding. The problem is, it looks like it was just coming from _him_ , there is no single point of entry. Scanning him quickly, she presses down on the shredded flesh over his heart, blood oozing between her fingers.

“Cara,” he croaks again. Blood is pooling in his mouth, coloring his teeth and dripping out of the corner of his lips. He reaches up and pulls off his crucifix, trying to place it in her hands. “Tell – Tell my son I love him and that I’m sorry.”

As paramedics surround them, he weakly forces the golden necklace into her hand, and they wheel him away. “Tell him yourself!” she shouts. Tears sting her eyes as she blinks down at her crimson fingers and the stark contrast of the glistening cross. 

There is no crying in war, she is a soldier.

_But you aren’t supposed to lose men at home_ , a tiny voice in her head reminds her.

Tucking the necklace in her pocket, she runs after the medics.

“What’s his blood type!” One yells as she approaches.

“AB positive!” she answers. “I’m riding with him,” she slides into the passenger seat of the ambulance cab. No one protests and as soon as she is buckled, they are pulling away.

“He’s losing blood too fast,” she hears one say from the back.

“Looks like his chest is filled with shrapnel.”

“Fuck, I haven’t seen something like this since Iraq.”

“He’s coding!”

They arrive at the hospital with the smallest paramedic on his chest trying to pound the life back into him. They wheel him off and she numbly goes to follow, feeling like her feet are weighed down with cement blocks. Everything is moving so slowly when a nurse catches her arm and coos, “You can’t go back there, baby.”

“But–”

“He’s in good hands.”

Cara nods and lets herself be shuffled into the waiting room. Other people entering give her a wide berth and she isn’t certain why until she looks down and sees that she is covered in her best friend’s blood. 

Her chest heaves and she rushes into the restroom. Scrubbing her hands with soap and scalding water, she watches as the pink-tinged water swirls down the drain. When the automatic sink turns off, she punches it back on and feels the raw twinge of emotion in her throat. She lets herself sob. Five minutes. She will give herself five minutes to cry and then she will be the strong Agent Dune that Din needs right now.

~

Back in the waiting room, she calls Peli, Din’s babysitter. As she clicks dial, her heart sinks. His adoption papers had finally gone through. He has finally adopted that little baby they found malnourished on a raid almost a year ago. He had been a newborn then and when they found him, he and Din instantly became inseparable. Her heart broke at the thought of the boy losing his father before he even got the chance to love him.

“Peli speaking.”

“Hey Peli, it’s Cara Dune. I work with Din.”

“Hey! What’s up?”

“Listen. Can you stay with the kid overnight today and maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure… he knows I charge extra for that, is everything okay?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m at the hospital right now. He’s in emergency surgery.”

“Christ almighty.”

“I’ll call you with an update as soon as I have one.”

“Of course, take care.”

“You too,” Cara hangs up and clutches the phone. He has to live, he _has_ to. He was the only partner who was patient enough to put up with her brash personality. When they got stuck together two years ago on the task force, they just clicked; he quickly became the best friend she ever had.

“Carasynthia Dune?” She shoots up and looks at the nurse pulling down her mask.

“That’s me. I’m Cara Dune.”

“Hi. You’re the emergency contact for Din Djarin?”

She nods; he had asked her not too long ago because the man had no other family. She had also been his witness for the adoption.

“I wish I had better news.”

Her heart plummets into her stomach.

“He’s in surgery. While his vest took most of the shrapnel, a great deal of it still ended up in his chest.”

She swallows down the bile in her throat.

“The only update I can give you is that he’s still in surgery and we’re not sure how much longer it will be.”

“But he’s alive.”

The nurse gives her a warm smile. “He’s alive.”

Cara exhales. “Do me a favor and tell the Doc to do everything he can. He just adopted a little boy.”

She nods sharply. “I’ll let him know.”

~

Six hours later, the nurse comes out and informs her that while he coded on the table three different times, he is alive and in recovery.

Cara feels her shoulders sink with relief. “Can I see him?”

“He’ll be out for a little while longer, if you want to go home and change.”

“Oh – I,” Cara looks down at her blood covered uniform.

“Ms. Dune, there are some circumstances that the Doctor will want to discuss with you, and it would be best if you are as rational and coherent as can be.”

Cara nods. She isn’t going to leave; she won’t leave a man behind simply because a doctor thinks that a woman covered in blood is irrational and incoherent. Just when she is about to start telling off the nurse, she sees two members from their assault team – two dear friends, honestly – standing at the door. I.G. – Iggy as she likes to call him, and it has kind of stuck – and Karga both stand, looking only mildly helpless. Karga is holding a bag of greasy food – which if she has to take a guess probably contains two greasy cheeseburgers – and Iggy is holding a duffle with what she already knows contains her P.T. gear.

“Hey.” She sags with relief at seeing two familiar faces. So much has happened and she feels like she could fall asleep standing up. 

“We brought your things,” Iggy states.

“And some grease to get you through,” Karga shoves the paper bag towards her. Ah these men, they really know what makes her tick.

Turning towards the nurse, Cara sneers. “I’ll be staying here, thank you.”

“How is he?” Iggy asks, setting down her duffle.

“Alive is all I know.”

“Well that’s better than the alternative,” Karga shrugs.

“Thanks guys,” she motions towards her late-night gifts.

“We’ll stay here for you, just in case they come with an update,” Iggy proclaims and moves to sit.

~

Nearly three hours later - when she’s dozing off in the chair, her chin tucked into her chest - she gets ushered into the ICU. Din is hooked up to several tubes and machines and she tries not to get nauseous all over again. Plopping down in the chair next to the bed, she grunts. “You’re an idiot for making me get out of there.”

Without opening his eyes, he croaks. “Nice to see you too, Dune.”

She smacks his hand, albeit lightly. She has never been good at showing tender affection like he is. “You can’t pull that shit anymore; you’ve got a kid, Djarin.”

“And you have a wife.” He lolls his head over so that he can look at her. He is awake, but his eyes still look distant, like he can’t quite focus on her.

“I know, we’re your kid’s godparents, but that doesn’t mean you can go pulling me out every time shit is about to hit the fan.”

He coughs and winces. “We both know we needed a sniper.”

She nods. “Still. Try not to get yourself blown up anymore, okay? I’d hate to have to break in a new partner.”

He rolls his eyes. “Nurse said that the Doc had big news.”

She nods.

“Dune, give it to me straight.”

“First,” she digs around in her hoodie pocket and pulls out the golden crucifix. “Take this back, you look wrong without it.”

He tries to tilt his head off the pillow and then quickly decides that it is a bad idea. Sensing his discomfort, Cara stands and wraps it around his neck, adjusting the clasp and settling it neatly on his chest. He gives her a half smile as she plants herself back into her hard, plastic chair.

“Djarin, I’m afraid to tell you this, but you’re gonna be riding the desk for a while.”

He glances down at himself and then back up at her. “I was just blown up, I gathered that much.”

She winces and takes up his hand. “It’s not looking good. You took a lot of shrapnel to the chest.”

“Cara,” he pleads.

She sighs. “You have a punctured lung, five broken ribs, a broken wrist, a fractured ankle, some internal bleeding, a massive concussion…”

“And?” he croaks.

“Your heart got shredded pretty bad. They say you’re lucky to be alive. They did the best they could to repair the damage.”

“But?” He squeezes her hand and she squeezes back.

“The damage was extensive… is extensive…” she clears her throat and shifts. “You’re going to need a new heart in a year.”

“A year?” He chokes.

She nods. “I’m sorry buddy… I’d give you mine but apparently a donor needs to be, you know, dead to give up their heart.”

He tries to smirk, but he mostly just looks like a man who has been told he is dying. “Fuck,” he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I put in for desk duty,” she murmurs.

“What?” His eyes snap open and struggle to focus on her.

“I go where you go, my dude.”

“You might as well start breaking in a new partner now.”

She shakes her head. “Negative, and if I hear that bullshit from you again, I’ll add another broken rib to your list of injuries.”

He smirks. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”


	2. One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omera suffers a devastating loss and must make a big decision

Nothing good comes from a phone call at two in the morning. And so, when Omera’s phone rings at this wee hour, her heart sinks. She swats blindly at her nightstand until she clumsily grabs it, groggily answering, “Hello?”

“May I speak with Mrs. Omera Avidan?”

“This is her,” she sits up straighter, brushing her hair from her eyes. 

“We need you to come down to Mercy General Hospital as soon as possible. Your husband has been involved in an accident.”

“What?” She throws the covers off her and fumbles for the closest pair of pants. “Is he okay?!”

“Ma’am we’ll tell you more when you get here.”

She hangs up and rushes into Winta’s room and begins tossing her tablet, stuffed toys, and extra clothes in a bag. Picking up the phone once again, she quickly dials her elderly neighbor, knowing full well that the woman is probably still up watching reruns. 

“Peli speaking.”

“Peli, this is Omera. I need to ask a favor,” she holds the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she gently shakes Winta awake. 

“Momma? What’s wrong?” Winta mumbles. 

“Nothing baby, we’re just going to go over to Granny Peli’s okay?”

Winta nods and slowly pulls herself from her bed. 

“Of course,” Peli says over the phone. 

“David’s been in an accident. I’m going down to the hospital and was hoping I could bring Winta to you?”

“Sure thing, dear.”

“Thanks.”

Carrying her groggy eight-year old on her hip, Omera rings the doorbell and Peli answers almost immediately. Her short, brown hair is wrapped up in rollers and she has a tattered robe tied shut around her waist. “Go, I’ll keep this little one here.”

“Thank you so much,” Omera blurts. 

Rushing over to her car, she collapses into the driver’s seat and fails to sink the key into the ignition three different times due to her shaking hands. When she arrives at the hospital, she doesn’t even remember how she got there; the early morning drive had become a blur of pure, unadulterated panic. As she flurries into the hospital, pulling her coat tighter around her, her thoughts take a dark turn. If she is being called down to the hospital at 2 a.m, nothing, literally nothing can be good right now. 

The doors slide open slower than she would have liked, causing her to exaggerate one of her steps so that she doesn’t run face first into the glass. Marching up to the receptionist, she states, “My name is Mrs. Omera Avidan, I’m David Avidan’s wife. I received a phone call saying that he was in an accident.”

The receptionist blinks and smacks her gum. Closing her eyes, Omera takes a deep breath through her nose to try and squelch the urge to reach across the counter and snatch the gum out of the woman’s mouth. “Mrs. Avidan, you can have a seat over in the waiting area. The doctor will be right with you.”

Omera leans against the counter. “I need to see my husband.”

“I’m aware. Sit down and you’ll be helped when the Doctor is ready.”

Omera huffs, but ultimately does what she was ordered to do. There is no sense in getting in a pissing match about when the doctor would or wouldn’t see her. If the doctor can’t see her now, it just means he is with her husband, who clearly needs all the help he could get. 

She lowers herself into the cold, plastic chair and stares blankly at the speckled, beige tile. She hates the smell of hospitals and the way the antiseptic stings her nose. Clutching her purse to her chest, she begins bouncing her knee vigorously and notices that her socks aren’t matching. 

She laughs to herself; hearing David chastise her for not having matching socks. “It’s fundamental,” he would say. “Like making the bed,” another thing she doesn’t do. David always matches her socks and makes their bed. That’s just what they do. She packs his lunches and folds his dress pants so they would have a neat crease and he matches her socks and makes their bed. 

“Mrs. Avidan?”

“Yes?” She shoots out of the chair, still clutching her purse to her chest. 

“Could you come with me please?” The Doctor asks. He looks tired and Omera assumes that he is approaching the end of his shift. Nevertheless, she follows him into an empty exam room. Her stomach churns with the thought that this might have been her husband’s room and he is now laying on a cold slab in the morgue. 

“How’s my husband?” She manages to choke out, but she can’t bring herself to sit down. Instead, she stands frozen by the door, watching as the doctor eases himself down onto the wheeled stool. 

“Mrs. Avidan, I’m so sorry… there’s no other way to say this, but your husband is brain dead.”

“What?” She is underwater, everything in the room sounding muffled and drowned out. She feels her knees weaken underneath of her and she locks them in effort to keep herself from collapsing right then and there. 

“Your husband has suffered a severe head trauma due to a head-on collision. I’m sorry, but there is no way he will recover full cognitive function.”

Omera stares blankly at the doctor. 

“I’m sorry,” he reaches for her hand and she pulls away. 

“No… That’s not right.”

“Your husband is David Avidan, right?”

“Yes, but,” she inhales sharply. “He’s dead?” For some reason her brain cannot connect all the points the doctor is making, she feels her thoughts are processing through thick molasses. 

“Brain dead, ma’am. He still has a heartbeat, but his brain is unresponsive.”

“He’s a vegetable?” She rasps. 

“There is no hope for cognitive recovery, no.”

Omera stares at him again. 

He clears his throat. “We have two options. We can keep him on life support until you’re ready or we can remove him from life support now.”

She shakes her head. She is going to vomit; she can feel the sting of bile in her mouth as her vision tunnels. “I… I can’t make the decision to end his life.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, the life you had with him is over now.”

She gasps and resists the very ardent urge to slap him. “Take me to my husband,” she spits instead. 

The doctor rises and takes her to the ICU where her comatose husband lays, hooked up to several tubes and bags. On autopilot, she drifts into the room and falls into the chair by the bed, a soft sob escaping from between her lips. “David?”

It is foolish, she knows, to expect a response, but when she is only greeted with the steady beeps of the machines surrounding them, she loses control and tears begin streaming down her cheeks. She had hoped, by some great miracle, that upon hearing her voice his eyes would snap open and they would drive home as a happy family. 

This is not the case. 

The doctor speaks softly, “Take all the time you need. If you do need anything, the call button is on the side here and a nurse will come in.”

She nods numbly. 

He pats her shoulder, “I’m sorry Mrs. Avidan.”

She pats his hand while it rests on her shoulder, but there are no other words to exchange. Her husband is dead, her daughter fatherless. 

She is a widow. 

Squeezing her husband’s surprisingly warm hand, she sobs. 

~

She is going through the motions. She knows that. She calls into work and they tell her to take as much time as she needs and that they will find a substitute for her first-grade class. Then she stares at her phone, wondering who else to call. Both she and David are parentless. He grew up in foster care and her grandparents, who were now dead, raised her. 

She calls his work next and informs his boss of the accident. A drunk driver, she had been told. A kid under 21 had been drinking and didn’t want to get in trouble by his strict parents, so he decided to get behind the wheel. He lived. A fractured wrist and chipped tooth. 

Her husband is _dead_. 

At least the kid’s parents made a donation to his funeral fund. Good Lord, who is she? At least they paid a small amount of money to bury her husband? What amount of money could make up for the void his death will leave in their lives? 

The answer is easy, no amount could. 

David is irreplaceable. 

David is gone. 

She buries her head in her hands and sobs some more. 

~

Peli, thank God, is taking Winta more than what is strictly necessary. Omera can hardly get herself out of bed, hasn’t washed her long locks in days, and only gets out of the house to drive to the hospital and sit next to her husband. She reads to him, always picking his favorite books and doing the funny voices like he does for Winta. She lays next to him in bed, telling him about how Winta is doing in school. Sometimes, the nurses let her give him a sponge bath and she gently combs his light brown hair over to the side he likes. 

That is until one day, a young nurse, maybe just out of college, comes up to her. “How are you doing Mrs. Avidan?”

“My husband is brain dead,” she answers dryly. She still can’t accept it, she keeps hoping that she will stop by and he will just suddenly be awake. 

The young girl nods, goes to leave, and then stops. “Mrs. Avidan, I know it’s not my place to say… but your husband is an organ donor.”

Omera turns slowly to the girl. “Excuse me?”

“When my mom was brain dead, we had to take her off life support… Her organs saved so many different people.”

“Are you telling me to scrap my husband for parts?”

“No ma’am, I’m telling you to ask yourself what he would want.”

The girl leaves and Omera looks at her husband. She knows what he would want, and it certainly wouldn’t be her moping around the hospital like some sort of ghost. Leaning over, she gives him a peck on the cheek and decides it is finally time to handle this like an adult. 

~

Stirring the pot of soup on the stove, Omera tries not to cry. She’s done enough of that in the past week and right now, she needs to be strong for her daughter. Winta, thank goodness, has been extremely patient throughout this ordeal, or at least as patient as a child could be. Tonight is their first night reunited and both of them are keenly aware of the empty place at the dinner table. 

“Momma, where is daddy?” Winta asks, looking up from her coloring book. 

Omera pours the soup into the bowls and cuts their grilled cheeses into triangles like they like it. Cutting them in half is simply just not as fun as triangles. And right now, they could use all the lightheartedness they could find. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, baby.”

Winta straightens up and prepares herself for an adult conversation. It’s time to be a big kid and she wants to show her momma how grown up she can be. 

Omera, on the other hand, is struggling with how to put this situation into words that a child can understand. “Your daddy was in a very terrible car accident,” Omera says simply, placing the bowls on the table. 

“Is that why he hasn’t been home?” Winta dunks a triangle into the soup and muches with her mouth open. 

“Chew with your mouth closed, baby,” Omera instructs lightly and the little girl snaps her mouth shut. “Yes, he hurt his brain really badly. You know how important the brain is right?”

“Yeah! We learned about it in school! It's where all your thoughts go!” She takes another bite. 

“Well daddy’s brain,” she takes a deep breath, trying not to cry. “Daddy’s brain is hurt very badly and because it's hurt… He’s...He’s dying baby.”

“What?” Winta drops her sandwich in her soup. 

“Daddy’s dying and the doctors aren’t certain how much longer he is going to be alive.” This sounded so much better than the truth, that she is giving herself another week to get the arrangements in order and then she is pulling his plug. She is going to kill him because in no life would he have been okay rotting away in a bed. 

“What?” Winta asks again and tears start to stream down her face. “Quit lying mommy.”

Tears prickle at her eyes and she goes to take her daughter’s hand, but she pulls away. “I’m not lying, sweetie. We… it's just going to be you and me okay?”

“No!” Winta gets up from her chair, sending it crashing to the floor. “No! You’re lying!” She runs off to her room, hiccuping with grief. 

Omera, despite her better judgement, lets her go. She sits at the table, numb and defeated, and tells herself that her daughter needs to work through these emotions too. Replaying the situation in her head, she tries to think of better ways that she could have said those words, but it was hard enough to say them as it was. She’s barely holding on herself and a few silent tears still manage to escape and plop unceremoniously into her tomato soup.

~

A few hours later, Omera rises from the table with a stiff back and goes upstairs to Winta’s bedroom. The door is shut and inside, she can hear the soft sobs of her child that shouldn’t have to grow up fatherless. “Knock knock,” she calls through the door. 

“Go away,” Winta sniffles. 

“Do you want to build a blanket fort?” She calls. 

Omera hears the hesitation and after a few beats of silence, the door clicks open. Winta stands on the other side of the threshold, shoulders hunched, eyes bloodshot and puffy. “Can we eat ice cream too?”

This causes Omera to crack a smile and she pulls her daughter into a fierce hug. “Yes baby, we can eat ice cream too.”

They collect all the blankets from the linen closet, drag all the chairs into the living room and start assembling their blanket fort. There is a bedroom, a living room, and a library - because what house is complete without a library? And when they are complete, Winta drags her constellation nightlight out of her room and puts it in the bedroom where they have assembled their pillow-and-blanket bed. Winta lays down next to her mom and rasps, “I don’t want daddy to die.”

Omera squeezes her close and whispers, “I don’t want him to either.”


	3. The Donation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din gets a new heart!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks go to @woahpip for reading this for me and helping me add more meat to this chapter!

They had told him that heart failure would be painful, but he didn’t think it would be this bad. Din has a pretty high pain tolerance, having been injured in the line of duty more times than he cares to admit; but, as he sits across from Cara at his kitchen table, wheezing, he can’t help the thought of wanting to just hurry up and  _ die _ . Cara’s brow knits together with concern when he slips the oxygen in his nose. 

“Are you okay?” She asks. 

He just gives her the  _ look _ . No, he is not okay. No, there is nothing she can do. Yes, he has remembered to take his meds today. 

Her jaw tightens and they turn back to the paperwork on the table. 

“You’re not even dead yet,” she mumbles, looking at the pamphlets for headstones and funeral homes to have the wake. 

“No, but if God is as merciful as they say He is, it will be sometime soon.”

When she glances up from the papers, her face is anything other than her usual brash facade. She honestly looks like she’s about to cry, and this is what causes him to reach across the table and take up her hand. “Dune, we’re just preparing for the worst case scenario.”

“I know.”

“At least you can draft the eulogy while I’m still alive. Make sure you won’t embarrass me post-mortem.”

This makes her crack a smile and she punches his arm. “Yeah right, my plan is to send you off in style. All the embarrassing stories. Like that one time you fell chasing the perp at the water treatment plant.”

He groans. 

“You smelled like  _ actual  _ shit for days.”

He shakes his head, but gives her a half smile nonetheless. 

~

Because his bosses are not monsters and because he was able to apply for long-term disability, Din doesn’t have to go into the office any more. This, he likes to think, is mostly a blessing because he gets to lay around with his son. Right now, they’re curled up on the floor together, rolling a ball back and forth. 

His chest doesn’t hurt as bad today and, watching his little boy giggle with joy, he tries to think of what it would be like to grow old with him. To watch him get on the school bus for the first time, to take him to his first dance. 

Hell, to even hear his first words would be nice. 

He is a little concerned as to why he hasn’t started talking yet at just over a year old. Din reads to him every night and has full conversations with him during the day, so he’s bound to catch on eventually. Or maybe he’s just waiting until he finds the right word he wants to say; Din can’t blame him there. Before his parents died, they had told him about how he waited forever to talk, because he simply preferred listening. 

He’s snapped from his reverie by his phone ringing on the coffee table. Laying there, he deeply contemplates letting it go to voicemail. He looks to his son, who looks up at him expectantly, and says, “I should probably answer that, shouldn’t I?”

The little boy only gurgles in response and Din, with a great deal of effort, heaves himself over to the table. “Djarin,” he answers, moving his shoulder to support the phone while he rolls the ball back to his son. 

“Hi, may I speak with Mr. Din Djarin, please?”

He disregards the complete butchering of the pronunciation of his last name and answers, “Speaking.”

“You need to come to Mercy General Hospital stat.”

He sits up straight, thinking of Cara being wheeled in on a gurney, cursing and spitting at orderlies. “What? Why?”

“Sir, we have found a donor. How soon can you be here?”

He looks at his watch, Cara would just about be leaving for lunch. “Within the hour,” he states. He barely hears the directions she gives him as he pushes himself off the floor and hobbles up the stairs to the nursery to start packing his boy’s bag. 

He’s getting a new heart. 

He’s getting a new heart. 

He’s not going to die.

~

There are perks to desk duty. One of which is scheduled lunch breaks. Every day, she leaves for lunch at exactly eleven thirty and while most people - including herself, sometimes - would hate the monotony, this just means she gets to have lunch with her beautiful wife. Tiffany works as an x-ray technician at an Urgent Care down the road. They met when Cara had a bad run in during a raid and Din  _ insisted _ that she seek medical attention. She had a broken rib, but it was worth it because her x-ray technician was super hot. 

At their wedding, where he was her best man, Din could have given a speech about how it was all his doing that they ended up together. But he didn’t. Instead, he spoke about fates - how they were fated to be stuck together on an assignment to catch a petty child porn distributor, but ended up becoming best friends. How that case turned into something bigger, that caused them to go on a raid that had ended up busting her up pretty bad, but she met the love of her life. He spoke about how every action has a reaction and how they were meant to be. 

Tiffany cried. 

Okay, and she cried a little too. But then she laughed because she could definitely imagine him rehearsing that over and over again in the bathroom, on the commute to work in the morning, before he went to bed tonight. Djarin hates public speaking and actively avoids giving briefs, which is probably for the best considering that most of the time he’s way too direct and just alienates the team. He leaves the finesse to her, which is also hilarious because he has told her many times that she is about as delicate as a bull in a china shop. 

She snatches her coat off the back of the chair and makes her way to the front door of her office when her phone vibrates in her pocket. Pulling it out, she sees his face - a picture she had taken when he was giving her his signature exasperated  _ look _ \- and name flashing on the screen. She swipes to accept the call and answers, “Hey what’s up?”

“I’m sorry to ask, but can you give me a ride to the hospital and watch the kid?”

“What? Are you okay?” Already, she’s planning the conversation with Tiff to cancel their lunch plans. 

“Cara, they found a heart.”

“Oh my god. I’ll be right there,” she hangs up and sprints to her jeep, shoving the interns out of her way with more force than what was probably necessary.

~

She signs the paper. David Avidan, pronounced dead, at 10:23 A.M, February 20th. She stares numbly at her signature, _ Omera Avidan. _ The last name that had been hers for the past eleven years suddenly feels like it doesn’t belong to her anymore. She was no longer a “Mrs.” after all. 

Ms. Omera Avidan - the title of a widow. 

She cranes her neck up to the harsh fluorescents on the ceiling and welcomes the sting of the brightness in her already bleary eyes. “Ma’am?” She hears a soft voice to her left, but she’s not ready. They’ve already pulled the sheet over him and she knows that at this point, she’s wasting valuable time for the organ recipients, but leaving the room means it is real. 

David is dead. 

“Ma’am?” The voice repeats again. 

Omera finally turns her head to look at her. The woman is small, plump, with bright orange hair pulled tightly back in a bun. “Yes?” Omera croaks. 

“Let’s go to my office and have some coffee?” She offers her hand and Omera takes it, though she’s not entirely sure why. Maybe because she doesn’t want to be alone. Maybe because it's as good of an excuse as any to leave this God forsaken place. 

“My name is Beth and I will be your social worker. I just want to let you know about the various grief counseling programs we offer here at Mercy General. Also, we will set you up with the donor foundation, should you choose to communicate with any of the recipients.”

Omera’s stomach churns. The thought of meeting someone who David saved fills her with hope, but at the same time she imagines that she would hate them. Hate them for being alive while her husband isn’t. Hate them for being just a little bit luckier than he was. 

Omera sits in the woman’s office, disgusting instant coffee in hand, and tries to listen to her drone on and on about the programs, counseling, and meeting the recipients. She can’t focus. She can’t breathe. The room feels like it's swaying as she checks “yes” and signs to meet the people she’s not certain she will ever want to meet. 

~

Cara arrives at his house in lightning speed and bolts up to the porch, unlocking the door and letting herself in. “Din!?” She yells. 

“Up here!” She hears him wheeze. She bounds up the stairs, two at a time, finding him in the nursery, stuffing items in the bag. “What are you doing? Come on, let’s go!”

He gasps for breath. His oxygen tank is down stairs, but he just needs to get everything together. “Putting a bag together,” he answers.

“What can I do to help?” 

“Put some extra clothes and blankets in this bag. I’ll go downstairs and get his snacks.”

“Okay,” she tries not to be intimidated by this. She dresses herself every day, how hard could it be to dress a baby?

She ends up throwing one of everything in the bag, just in case. When she rushes back down the stairs, Din is finishing up and has his oxygen tank helping him breathe. “Okay, lets go!” She stands at the entryway between the kitchen and front room, waving for him to get a move on. 

“Take the truck,” he nods to the key rack with his truck keys. 

“What? No!”

“It has the car seat and the stroller in it. It’ll be faster.”

She can’t argue with that, but man, does she really hate his piece of shit truck. The thing has a cassette deck and crank windows. Honestly, an aluminum can probably has better safety ratings than this hunk of junk. Either way, they pile into the truck and she rushes him to the hospital, only struggling with the sticky clutch twice. 

“Dune,” he says as she checks the speedometer. It's about five wrong, so she’s  _ really _ only going 80 in a 65. “They said I’ll probably be in the hospital for two weeks if all goes well.”

“That’s okay, I already talked to Tiff. She’s baby proofing the house. We’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry.”

“I always worry.”

“I know you do.”

He takes a deep breath. “He wakes up every day around 5:00. He loves cheerios or scrambled eggs in the morning. I take him to Peli’s around 7:00. He usually eats lunch around 11:30 and he’s not too picky about lunch, but his favorite is chicken. I put him down for a nap around 12:30. He normally sleeps for an hour or two. He loves spaghetti for dinner.”

Cara nods. If anything, she can always call Peli, she would know right?

“In his bag, I have his favorite toys and the tablet. He likes watching paw patrol and playing that one game with the matching pictures. You might have to help out, but I think he kind of just likes mashing the screen.”

She laughs, “I got it Djarin, try not to worry okay? You gotta focus on yourself right now for once.”

“Okay,” he breathes in. “Okay, yeah okay.”

~

She ends up in the hospital lobby. She’s not certain how she did, but she sits there, listening to the stupid water art they have on the wall. Is it supposed to be relaxing? Because all she can think about right now is David singing “L-O-V-E” in the shower. Why? “Because it’s the best song for shower acoustics” he had answered. 

She blinks back more tears, clutching the styrofoam cup of now-cold, instant coffee. Her attention is suddenly drawn, though, to a commotion at the doors. 

“I need a wheelchair!” A woman bellows, pushing a stroller while simultaneously supporting a wheezing man. The nurses spring into action at the sight, flurrying to grab whatever the man needs.

“It’s fine… I can stand,” he tries to argue as one nurse wheels the chair behind him. 

“Yeah, and you also said you could walk in from the parking lot. Sit down and shut up,” she pushes him into the wheelchair. Both Omera and the nurse gasp in horror. “We’re here for a surgery, the Doc said to hurry.”

The nurse asks for his name, but she doesn’t quite catch what he says over the wheezing and coughing fit he is currently suffering from. He is slumped in the chair with his hair askew, and his skin slightly jaundiced. 

“Oh my God,” the nurse gasps all of the sudden. “Karen!” She shouts at the nurse behind the desk. “Call Dr. Klepper, tell him his patient is here!” She starts pushing him away and he holds up his hand, making her stop dead in her tracks. 

If she focuses she can just barely hear what he is saying. “Cara,” he addresses the woman who carried him in. He pulls something from his neck and hands it to her along with his phone and wallet. “His snacks are in the bag. He normally eats around 11:30. I have a tablet in there too. He loves paw patrol and that one game with…” he wheezes again. “The matching pictures.”

“I know,” she says softly with a smirk and squeezes his shoulder. “Now go, so you can get out faster.”

He smirks and nods. 

With that, the nurse rushes off with him, leaving his wife to watch him go. The baby in the stroller coos and she looks down. “Let’s go get comfy, little man.”

Omera doesn’t know why she stays. She’s just so transfixed on the mother and child. Part of her tells her that she enjoys watching them together, that it reminds her of when Winta was young. The other part darkly reminds her that she would be going home to an empty house and she isn’t certain if she is ready for that. If she is ready to be well and truly alone. 

So she stays. 

She stays until the sun is high in the sky and the little boy starts fussing. He has been crying for quite some time now and no matter what the other woman tries, he just simply will not calm down. He is almost turning purple in the face and the woman helplessly tries the binky again. On autopilot, Omera rises from her chair and before she knows it, she’s standing in front of her. 

“May I?” she asks. 

The woman eyes her and Omera just now realizes how creepy she must seem. “You think you can make this demon child stop wailing?”

“I can try… I’m a first grade teacher. I’ve fixed many a meltdown.”

She arches an eyebrow in response and slowly hands the tyke to her. Omera doesn’t fail to notice the gun strapped to her hip, causing her stomach to do a nervous flip. As soon as the boy is in her arms, though, his crying ceases almost immediately. 

“How did you do that?” The woman gasps. 

“Magic touch,” Omera answers, bouncing with her knees. She holds out her hand, “Omera.”

The woman takes up her hand, “Cara.”

Omera goes back to rubbing circles on his back. “He’s just worried about his daddy,” she murmurs. “Children are wonderful at sensing these kinds of situations,” she motions around the waiting room. 

Cara pokes his chubby cheek, “Well there’s no need to worry. Daddy’s getting a new heart and will be all better before we know it.”

Omera stops bouncing and stares at Cara. “What?” Her voice comes out in a strangled rasp. 

“He’s getting a heart transplant. Some vegetable on life support finally got their cord yanked.”

Omera hands the baby back to her. 

“Hey are you alright?”

“I have to go,” her world is spinning again and she’s stumbling out of the waiting room, not quite catching anything else that is being said. She has no idea if it is her husband’s heart or not, but the thought overwhelms her. Tears burn her eyes and bile stings her throat. Falling into the driver’s seat of her car, she tries to force herself to be happy that her husband’s life may have saved another father’s. Another child would grow up in a happy family, just not her own. 

Gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, she screams until no sound comes out. There are no more tears to cry, just raw emotions to feel like an exposed nerve. She rests her head against the wheel and lets herself calm down before putting it in reverse and driving off. 

~

Din puts his tea in the microwave and presses the number “two” causing it to instantly put two minutes on the timer. His throat is so incredibly sore, and just the thought of his chamomile tea brings him relief. He steps back and looks around the kitchen. It’s meticulously clean for once, everything glistening with a dream-like haze. The timer goes off and when he opens the door, the timer doesn’t stop beeping. He removes his mug and closes the door, but the beeping persists. Mashing buttons - clearly the next viable option - he tries to get the beeping to  _ stop _ ; his son is sleeping in the next room and he just doesn’t want to wake him. 

Then he hears a woman’s voice behind him and he whirls around, dropping the mug of hot water in his hand. 

He jerks in the bed, bright fluorescents stinging his eyes. He doesn’t know where he is. He can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe? His chest feels tight. His eyes start watering. Why can’t he breathe? He moves his hand up to his mouth and feels a large tube shoved down his throat. 

_ Oh God _ . He tries to remember where he is, but he’s panicking. The lights are so bright, and he’s so sore. He needs to get out of here. He needs to find his son. 

A woman touches his arm and he jerks away, grunting in fright and then in pain. 

“Baby you need to calm down,” the nurse is standing above him. “Din, baby, you need to calm down.”

He blinks, again trying to focus on the woman. She holds down his arm and he thrashes against her. He needs to find his son. He’s probably worried sick. “Baby you need to calm down before you hurt yourself.”

His chest feels tight and he can’t breathe and suddenly everything goes dark again. 

~

Karga and Iggy show up after the surgery - which takes about four and a half hours. Cara had just been notified that he was out. The surgery had been a success. Then, breathing a sigh of relief, she sees her friends at the door. 

She could fall to her knees and cry. 

She does  _ not _ work well with babies, and while Din’s kid is normally pretty chill, today he has been an absolute nightmare. What the lady said earlier about children sensing the environment around them makes sense. She has been stressed because her best friend is getting a new  _ fucking  _ heart and stressed because she has to  _ fucking  _ keep this living, breathing  _ child _ alive for four hours. Then she has to take him home and keep him alive for two  _ fucking _ weeks. She had already promised him, due to her wife’s insistence, that they would take care of the baby while he was in the hospital. But still. The familiar faces in the waiting room gives her hope. 

“I can take him,” Iggy says as soon as he comes up.

Cara practically thrusts the child to her friend when he offers while Karga falls into the chair with a huff and asks, “How’s boy wonder?” 

She nods and sits next to him while Iggy begins pacing in front of them, bouncing the small, angry bean. “Just got out of surgery. He’s going to be in the cardiac intensive care unit for them to monitor and then in about three days they plan on moving him into regular post-op to start physical therapy and stuff.”

“Sounds like he’s already on the mend. He needs to come back to regular work. Having you both on desk-duty is a drag.”

“I don’t want to rush him, I’m pretty happy working an 8 to 5 anyway.”

“No you’re not,” he scoffs. 

"I’m being serious. Going to bed every night with my girl is the best thing ever.”

Karga rolls his eyes. “Yes please tell me more about your bedroom life with your smoking hot wife.”

Cara winks. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

~

The pain in his chest is probably the next to worst pain he has ever experienced in his entire life, and he wakes up, blinking back tears. 

“Ah, nice of you to finally join us.”

He rolls his head to the side, painfully aware of the tug of his intubation tube. The nurse standing to the side of his bed is logging his vitals in a chart. “Let me go get the head nurse and I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

He tries to laugh at her joke, but he still can’t breathe and his chest hurts so,  _ so  _ bad. He starts to thank the stupid tube in his throat because he’s fairly certain that the pain would be taking his breath away right about now. Soon enough the nurse comes back in and he remembers her from earlier, or maybe yesterday? He has no idea. 

“Hey baby,” she smiles, patting his hand. “I’m going to ask you a few yes or no questions and all you have to do is nod or shake your head, okay?”

He nods. 

“Good,” she nods. “Is your name Din Djarin?”

He nods, she actually pronounced it right. It’s a miracle. 

“Is your birthday April 2nd?”

He nods. 

“Did you just have a heart transplant?”

He nods again. At least that’s what he came here for today. If they took a kidney by mistake, that was their own fault. 

She smiles and pats his hand. “You’re doing great baby. Now… using your fingers, how bad is your pain right now?” 

He holds up a six and she frowns at him. “Don’t be playing tough guy. We can’t give you pain meds unless you’re really feeling it. Okay?”

He holds up a nine. 

“That’s what I thought. Now… I have a harder question for you to answer okay? And I need you to be honest with me.”

Din nods. 

“Do you feel that you can breathe on your own?”

He pauses. His chest hurts so bad, he’s not certain. He holds up his hand and makes a “so-so” motion. He wants to try, but he’s not certain how to answer that nonverbally. 

“Do you want me to try and turn down the ventilator? See how much you can breathe on your own? If you can’t, no worries. We’ll turn it right back up. Okay?”

He nods. 

She goes over and turns down the ventilator just one click and he already feels the difference. Instead of the air rushing in and out, it moves just a touch slower. It feels nice. Less like he is being forced to breathe and more like his body’s natural rhythm. He nods. 

“Is this okay?”

He nods. 

“Okay, you’re already making great progress, baby. You should be proud of yourself.” She pats his hand and goes to walk away and he tries to catch her. He grunts and she turns to look at him. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He nods and makes the sign for “son” in American Sign Language. He’s been trying to learn in hopes that his son will feel more comfortable expressing himself nonverbally, but it hasn't quite stuck yet. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand sweetie,” she pulls out paper and a pen instead. 

His fingers feel thick holding the pen and he sloppily scrawls, “Son?”

“Oh. I can have them bring your wife in, but unfortunately, we won’t be able to bring your son back here. Children carry too many germs.” 

He nods and tries not to laugh at the thought of them mistaking Cara for his wife. 

~

“Ms. Cara Dune?”

Cara sits up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “That’s me.”

“Mr. Djarin is awake now and would like to see you if you’re ready.”

“Um,” she looks to the two men waiting with her. 

“Go, I will protect this young one with my life,” Iggy says, still bouncing the boy. 

Cara rolls her eyes. “I’ll be back with an update, guys.”

She follows the nurse back to the Cardiac ICU and they have her wash her hands thoroughly, put on gloves, a gown, and a face mask. 

“It's just to protect him,” the nurse explains when Cara gives her a hesitant look. If it is really this dangerous to be seeing him right now, she isn’t certain if she really wants to. 

She goes anyway, though. She has seen a lot of terrible things in her life, but nothing could have prepared her for seeing Din laid up in a hospital bed,  _ again _ . He’s hooked up to a ventilator and looks so uncomfortable. Her throat tightens and her heart falls into her stomach as she watches as the pump rises up and down, forcing air into his lungs. 

He grunts and draws her attention to him and not all the machines he’s hooked up to.

“Hey, buddy,” she smiles softly and eases herself onto the side of his bed. There is no chair and she assumes it’s because any visitors don’t get to stay very long. 

He arches his eyebrows at her and she snorts. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m not feeling very snarky. Today has been very stressful. Your son has been crying all damn day. You should pray for the sanity of the nurses in the waiting room for all the crap they’ve put up with.”

He motions like he’s trying to snort, but the ventilator sort of prevents the sharp exhale of air. Then he scrunches his eyebrows in form of a question. 

“Yes, I’m still okay to take him, I made you a promise. Besides, if we babysit maybe Tiff will finally be convinced that we don’t need a baby.”

Din rolls his eyes. 

“You know how bad I am with kids!” She exclaims with a laugh. “It’s a wonder you even trust me with your tyke.”

He arches an eyebrow and she punches his shoulder. “You’re a dick. Get better.”

His gaze softens and she roughly rubs the shoulder she just punched. “I mean it, get better. You have a long road of recovery and we’ll all be here for you. We promise, okay?”

He gives her a nod and his eyelids start drooping with the pain medication. 


	4. The Road to Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din gets out of the hospital and decides it's finally time to write a certain someone.

“You can’t be serious,” Cara says while helping him down the hallway. Today is his first day of therapy - which she said she wouldn’t miss - and his fourth consecutive day in the hospital. As his friend - his family, really - Cara has taken it upon herself to learn all the exercises he needs to do so that she can help him once he is discharged. Right now, his first exercise is walking down to the end of the hall and back to his room, preferably without incident. Just in case there is an incident, however, a nuse trails behind them with a wheelchair. 

“What?” He asks, leaning on her arm more than he probably should be. His voice is still scratchy from being intubated for so long and he still has to wheel around an oxygen tank; but, the plan is for him to stop using oxygen tomorrow. Today, however, he shuffles down to the end of the hallway - oxygen cart in hand - wearing the thin, itchy hospital gown, his favorite sweats that Cara was kind enough to bring him, and the hospital-provided socks with the grippers on the bottom. 

“You really want to meet the widow of the guy who gave you a heart?” She asks incredulously. 

“First of all,” he takes a deep breath through his nose. “I don’t know if the next of kin is his wife. And,” he pauses to breathe again. “The least I can do is thank them, whatever relation they had to him.”

“Djarin, you’re an absolute dumbass.” 

He stops walking to glare at her, or try anyway. He is too busy struggling to breathe to actually look menacing. 

“Whoever they are, they aren’t going to want to meet you and they certainly aren’t going to welcome you with open arms.”

“This man,” he wheezes. “Gave me a heart. I have to at least thank them, express my condolences for their loss.”

“Yeah, this guy  _ died _ and  _ happened _ to be an organ donor, who  _ happened  _ to be an exact match. They didn’t  _ want  _ to give you his heart. There is no thanks owed here.”

He touches the wall and turns to go back to his room. “It’s the right thing to do,” he concludes simply. 

Rolling her eyes, she holds out her arm for him again. At this point, she knows better than to argue with him. His mind is made up. Though, this doesn’t stop her from muttering, “This is such a bad idea.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” He asks, giving her a sidelong glance. 

~

She can’t afford the house anymore. Omera is sitting at the kitchen table looking at the medical bills, funeral costs, mortgage, and life insurance policy and there is just no way. Keeping him on life support for as long as she did was expensive and she wishes she could say it wasn’t worth it, but it was. Having her husband around - even if he was just a vegetable - gave her time to process and cope. While his life insurance policy could cover the mortgage for a little while, it isn’t going to be sustainable. Besides, David would have wanted her to save for Winta to go to school. 

With a groan, she turns on her laptop and pours herself another glass of wine. Winta is already in bed for the night, which means that she should probably go to bed too. The problem is, while she is slowly getting used to an empty house, she still can’t stand the empty bed. Since David has passed, she has been sleeping on the couch with the television on. She keeps telling herself that the next night she will try. 

And every time she falls asleep on the couch to the news droning in the background. 

She begins her house search by writing an email to a parent of a previous student who is a realtor. Once that’s sent, she scrolls through her inbox, cleaning out all of the junk, and stumbles across an email from the organ donation foundation asking if she would like to draft a letter for review. Apparently, the case worker assigned to her must read all letters to ensure that no confidentiality is being broken, for both the recipient or for David. Wanting to procrastinate going to “bed” a little while longer, she decides to draft a letter. 

_ ~~To whom it may concern:~~ _ ~~__ ~~

_ ~~To the man who took my husband’s heart:~~ _

_ ~~Dear Recipient,~~ _

She considers it, takes a sip of wine, and deletes it.

_ Hello, _

Nodding, she takes another sip. Her brain is beginning to feel fuzzy, but she tries to blink it away as she writes.

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I have heard from the organization that you are a recipient of my husband’s heart. He  _ ~~_ is _ ~~ _ was a great man. He was loved by many, but most of all by me. He worked hard for his family and truly had a kind heart.  _

She stares at these three lines and drains the rest of her wine. 

_ And you don’t deserve to have it. _

Slamming the laptop shut, she puts her hand over her mouth to cover the scream desperately trying to escape. Maybe she isn’t ready to write to the recipient. All she knows is that he is male in between the age of 40-50. She wishes she knew if he was a good person or not, if David’s heart went to a deserving home.  _ You could write to him and find out _ , a part of her rudely reminds her that she’s her own roadblock. 

No, she’s not ready. 

~

In total, Din stays in the hospital for fourteen days. On the last day, Cara pulls her jeep around to the front entrance and leans across the console to open the door from the inside. The nurse catches the door and helps Din out of the wheelchair. Falling into the passenger seat, he struggles to reach for the seatbelt behind him, his chest still sore from the broken sternum and stitches. The nurse gently pulls the seat belt out and hands it to him so that he can buckle in. 

“Take care, Mr. Djarin,” she smiles. 

“Thanks, you too,” he nods. 

The door closes softly and he looks to Cara. 

“I feel the overwhelming urge to take you out for ice cream,” she says as she puts it in drive. 

He snorts, “Why?”

“You look like you need ice cream.”

“No, I look like I need eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me and Tiff?”

“No… I owe you both so much already.”

“Din, we’re helping watch your kid and delivering groceries to you.”

“Which is too much,” he mutters, watching the scenery smear past them.

They pull up to a stop light and she turns to give him a proper glare. “And what would you do if the roles were reversed? Hm?”

“The same.”

“Exactly, so shut up and let us help you.”

He just sighs in response. 

“So,” she takes off when the light turns green. “To the grocery then?”

“I’m really tired,” he admits, trying to imagine himself walking through an entire store. His doctor had said to try and avoid crowds for a while. Not only is his immune system compromised as he recovers, but if someone were to bump into him, it could cause a great deal of pain, possibly bust open the incision. He’d rather just not.

“I’ll take you home and you’ll text me what you need. Okay?”

He nods, but he’s already falling asleep. 

~

He really does look worse for wear. Most of the time, he keeps his facial hair-well trimmed and his hair somewhat neat. She says ‘somewhat’ because no amount of brushing or hair gel seems to keep his hair in place. Most of the time, he looks to be in a permanent state of  _ windswept _ . But today, he is scraggly and several steps past windswept. 

His eyes are ringed with dark shadows, his patchy facial hair long past needing a trim, and his hair is- well, a rat’s nest would be putting it mildly. The normal finesse that he carries himself with is marred by the pain he is in. Even snoozing in the front seat, his shoulders are hunched inward to mitigate the ache of his surgical wounds. 

She pulls up into the driveway of his home, a cute two-story in the suburbs. Putting the car in park, she shakes him slightly and whispers, “Djarin.”

He jolts awake and groans. 

“Careful buddy, don’t pop a stitch.”

He blinks awake, sees his front door, and lays his head back again. “The door is so far away.”

“That’s okay, take your time.”

His head lolls to the side. “You don’t mean that.”

“No, I do, but if I’m not out of here by the time the match starts, I will have no choice but to sit here with you and watch it.”

This spurs him into action with another groan. “Alright, help me up.”

Smirking, she leaps out of the jeep. She opens his door for him and he slides out, taking her hand for balance. 

“You know, you and Tiff should buy that house,” he nods towards the house for sale next to him. It’s been on the market for months because - as Cara keeps informing him - no one wants to live next to him. He keeps his yard too neat. 

“Do you really want to be my neighbor?” She asks. 

Wheezing a laugh, he replies, “We could carpool.”

“Ugh, no. I can hardly deal with your chipper ass in the morning as it is.”

He just smiles as she unlocks his door and helps him in. “Just the couch is fine,” he says, already shuffling towards it. 

She helps plop him down in his favorite spot and grabs the remote for him off the coffee table. Moving over to the leather ottoman, she lifts the lid and pulls out a black, fleece blanket and tucks him in. 

“Thanks,” he slurs. 

“I’ll get you some water and set your pills on the coffee table, okay?”

He nods. 

“Djarin, look at me.”

He does. 

“Don’t forget to take your pain meds.”

He nods. 

“And don’t lift anything over ten pounds.”

He nods again. 

“Make sure you do your breathing exercises too.”

He tilts his head to the side and sighs.

“And call me if you need anything.”

“Dune, I got it. I promise. I’ll be okay.”

She folds her arms over her chest and takes him in. Under her scrutinization, he arches an eyebrow in question, and she confesses, “I’m glad you got a new heart.”

“Me too,” he smirks and slouches deeper into the cushions of his couch, sleep already beginning to claim him. 

She smiles to herself and finally lets the nervous rigidity in her shoulders loosen. He’s home now. For an entire year, she had to watch as he slowly died, as his body failed him and he withered away to half the man he had been. It had made her sick. Especially a few weeks ago when he had coughed up blood. She had insisted on taking him to the emergency room and they had told her the exact opposite of what she had wanted to hear. 

He was dying. 

He was dying and there was nothing she could do about it. 

Every night she had laid awake and replayed the accident in her head over and over and over again. She beat herself up over not being there, over not being the one to take point. They rotated every other mission, but he had been insistent on leading his first mission back. She should have pushed harder. She should have been the one that was talking the perp down. 

Either way, she had remained strong through everything, because that’s what he had needed. Even through the funeral planning, when he bought his own burial plot and headstone. He had said that he needed to do it so that no one else could be burdened with it. Typical Din, always thinking of everyone but himself. 

The day he called during her lunch break to tell her about the heart was the best day of her life. He was going to be okay. 

He is okay. 

She reaches down and tucks the blanket back over his shoulder. 

~

Omera pulls up to the small, brick house in the suburbs. This is the third house she has looked at in the past two weeks, and possibly the best one judging strictly by the outside. It is just one story, but has 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, just enough space for her and Winta. Also, the price is well within her single income. She sits in her car and observes the neighborhood. The neighbor to her left has an immaculate yard, but a rustbucket of a truck sitting in the driveway. The neighbor on her right has a less-neat yard, but a well kept Cadillac. So, she concludes, her neighbors are probably respectable people. 

The realtor pulls up in her swanky Tesla and gets out, motioning for Omera to join her on the porch. Immediately, she launches into a well-rehearsed spiel on how  _ amazing  _ this house is, but Omera only half listens as she enters. The front entryway features dated parquet flooring, but then moves to a lush - visibly new - carpet in the front room. It has a relatively open floor plan, the front room leading directly into the kitchen and then through the kitchen is a walkway to the back room, perhaps a dining room? In between this dining room and front walkway is a hallway that leads back to the two bedrooms and 2 baths. The first bedroom and bathroom are across the hall from each other and the second bathroom is off the master bedroom that is at the end of the hall. 

And it's in the same school district that Winta goes to and Omera teaches in. 

“It’s perfect,” Omera says, clearly interrupting the realtor. 

“Great, would you like to go back to the office and put a bid on it?”

Omera looks around once more and nods. “Yes, please.”

~

Din sits on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, laptop balanced on his thighs. He stares blankly at the blinking cursor in the word document and wonders for the hundredth time in the hour if this is the right thing. 

Maybe Cara was right. 

It’s only been three weeks since his surgery, which means it's only been three weeks since this family lost a loving man - or who he assumed to be a loving man. Only compassionate people donate their organs right? 

He sighs. 

_ To whom it may concern:  _

_ Hello,  _

He pauses again and looks up at the clock, like he has anything better to be doing right now. He can hardly move his arms, which means no tinkering out in the garage and he can’t lift anything heavier than ten pounds, which means no carrying the laundry basket up the stairs. 

_ I have tried writing this letter a thousand different times, but in truth there are no words to express both my gratitude and remorse for you and your family at this time. I can only say that you have changed my life forever and I will be eternally grateful. I hope that you and your family are doing well.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Din Djarin _

He stares at the letter for a moment, considering if this is everything he wants to say. What else is there to say? Maybe he could talk about himself some more… but he’s never been good at that. 

He reads it once more to ensure that there are no glaring grammatical errors and he sends it to the caseworker. 

~

A few days after Omera puts a bid on the house, it gets accepted. It’s miraculous news really - they’ll be moving and they can start fresh, but the problem is telling this all to Winta. She cleans up dinner, letting herself mull over her thoughts in the soapy dishwater. When she’s finished, she pulls out her laptop to check her email one last time before going upstairs to break the news to her daughter. Maybe it will be easier to move on when she is on her own again, in a new space. It’s hard to move past her husband’s death when she can see him sitting on the couch out of the corner of her eye, or carrying Winta up the stairs to tuck her in at night. 

She has one new email notification from her case worker and her heart leaps into her throat. 

Subject:  _ Recipient Email _

_ Hi Omera,  _

_ If you are ready, the recipient has sent me an email. Let me know if you would still like me to send it your way.  _

_ Respectfully,  _

_ Beth _

Omera stares at the words. The recipient has reached out to her. 

_ Hi Beth,  _

_ Go ahead and send it my way whenever you have time.  _

_ Kindly,  _

_ Omera _

Her heart is racing as she clicks send. This is it. This is the moment she has been dreading. Within moments, the email notification pops up and Omera wonders if this woman is ever  _ not  _ working. 

She opens it. 

_ Hello,  _

_ I have tried writing this letter a thousand different times, but in truth there are no words to express both my gratitude and remorse for you and your family at this time. I can only say that you have changed my life forever and I will be eternally grateful. I hope that you and your family are doing well.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ ~~\-------~~ _

She stares at the black line that she supposes is his name and goes back to the body of Beth’s email. 

_ Omera,  _

_ Attached please find the PDF of the letter he sent me. I redacted his name due to confidentiality. Let me know if you would like me to send him a response.  _

_ Beth _

Reading the letter from the recipient once more, her hands begin to shake. This is real. This man has David’s heart. This man… this man… 

She snaps the laptop shut and goes upstairs to tell Winta that they’re moving. She might as well make this night as emotionally tumultuous as possible for herself. At least she bought another bottle of wine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, leaving comments, kudos and enjoying this fic! I'm sorry not much happened in this chapter, but I hope y'all still liked it at least a little bit <3


	5. All Sorrows are Less with Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally meet y'all!

It is painfully clear that Winta doesn’t want to move. When Omera broke the news, Winta stormed off and didn’t talk to her for the rest of the night. She is completely distraught about leaving Grandma Peli and Omera can’t blame her. Peli had been a part of their lives for the past fifteen years; she had been present for every birthday party, every holiday, and every special school event. Moving away from her - even if it was just across town - felt like leaving behind a family member. Even with promises to have frequent slumber parties, Winta protested the whole idea of moving. 

Now, Omera stands in front of the last thing that needs to be packed, David’s closet. Everything has been so easy up to this point, the kitchen, the library, the living room. A lot, she knows, will be kept in storage because her new house is far too small, but still. 

David’s closet needs to be packed. There is no more avoiding it. She stands in front of it, her arms firmly crossed across her chest and sucks in a deep breath. 

She can do this. 

They are just things. It shouldn’t break her heart to fold them away. It’s not like he will ever be using it again. 

She can do this. 

Pulling a handful of dress shirts out, a sharp pang of loss stabs her ruthlessly in the heart. On the top of the stack is her favorite dress shirt of his, a plain yellow button down. She had loved the way it had complimented his caramel skin and dark brown eyes. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she quickly stuffs the shirts into a box, not bothering to fold them neatly. She packs the rest of the box like this, snatching shirts and shoving them in the box so that she can’t get emotional thinking about which ones were whose favorites. 

And when she catches a whiff of his cologne, she just shoves the shirts more aggressively in the box as if the harder she shoves them the quicker the memories will leave her mind. 

She wishes it didn’t hurt so bad, David being gone. If she were alone, she’d probably go out with friends and drink away her sorrows. But she is an adult with a daughter and those kinds of coping mechanisms are no longer acceptable (they probably weren’t acceptable when she was younger either, but that is neither here nor there). So, instead, she forcefully packs up his things and carries them down into the living room with the rest of the boxes. 

Tomorrow is the big day. 

~

Din stares at the clock, willing the seconds to tick by faster. They should be over soon. He pours the marinara into the pan with the meat and onions and strains the pasta noodles. It’s Friday night and also his favorite night. Nearly two weeks after returning home, he is finally more mobile, but hasn’t earned the ‘okay’ from the doctor to lift more than ten pounds. This means his little chunk is still staying with Aunties Cara and Tiff while he slowly goes insane. 

Who knew he would crave the company of a drooling gremlin? 

The door unlocks and his heart flutters in his chest. 

Tiffany, gentle and serene, opens the door calling, “Din?”

“Come in!” He answers, coming around the corner, wiping his hands on a towel. 

Her long, blonde hair flows down her back in sculpted ringlets and she beams when she sees him. “You’re lookin’ good sweets,” she pulls him into a hug and kisses his cheek. His son immediately starts cooing for him and Din’s resolve crumbles. He moves over to the couch and she sits the boy in his lap. 

With the grace of an entire herd of cattle in a china shop, Cara barges in, arms weighed down with bags and bags of groceries. 

“I said I would help you,” Tiffany sighs with exasperation. 

“Two trips are for pussies!” She booms as she barrels through the house and into the kitchen. “Djarin! Did you cook!?” She shouts, and he can hear her tossing everything to the ground. 

“It’s just spaghetti, Dune!” He calls, wiggling his fingers so that his son starts cackling. Hearing that glorious sound, Din’s face cracks with a smile of his own. 

“You are supposed to be taking it easy!” Cara comes out of the kitchen, hands on her hips. 

“There is only so much T.V I can watch in a day,” he grumbles. 

“So read. Write your widow friend. You do  _ not _ need to make us dinner.”

He rolls his eyes. “I did write the next of kin, they haven’t written me back. And yes I did need to make you dinner. You both just got off work and it's the least I could do.”

“The effort is appreciated,” Tiffany smiles and kisses her wife on the cheek. “We brought cards and cake.”

“Sounds like a good night to me, doesn’t it buddy?” Din bounces his knees so that his son starts laughing again. This is perfect. A perfect Friday night with his very own, small family. He couldn’t ask for more. 

Against both of their wills, Tiffany comes and picks up the baby and carries him into the kitchen. She straps him into his high chair before turning to the stove and scooping food for everyone. “I saw that the house next door sold,” she comments as he eases himself into the chair next to his boy. 

“Yeah… I’m not looking forward to meeting the new neighbors.”

She chuckles. “Yeah, Cara said you wanted us to buy that house.”

“And I said no way. Can you imagine? Djarin and I living next to each other and working together? He’d want to kill me.”

“Only if you threw noisy house parties at three a.m,” he comments and both women scoff. 

“Please, you both know I’m a granny,” Tiffany laughs as she sets the last plate on the table. 

“You’re a pretty hot granny,” Cara mumbles, earning her a smack from her wife. 

Din quietly says grace to himself while the women settle in for dinner. Once everyone is seated, he starts feeding his tyke spaghetti. While the near two-year old is fully capable of feeding himself, Din still likes making sure the noodles are an acceptable length and supervising the eating process. The first time the baby choked, it was easily resolved, but Din was pretty certain he lost ten years off his life that day. 

Now all food is carefully cut into non-choke hazard sized bites. 

“Have you got off desk duty yet?” Din asks as he spoons some food into the boy’s mouth. 

Cara tries not to laugh watching him. Every time the boy opens his mouth to accept the spoon, Din makes the same face. Opening his mouth, and then closing it with great exaggeration. Stifling her chuckle, she answers, “No. I’m waiting until you’re back.”

He stops what he’s doing, spoon a few inches away from his boy’s mouth, and questions, “Why?”

The boy watches the spoon with great frustration and tries to lean forward far enough to get it. 

“I told you. I go where you go. I don’t want another partner.”

Din sets his hand down just as the boy had leaned far enough forward to get to the spoon. The child whimpers, bringing Din back to reality and he spoons the food into the hungry one’s mouth. “I may never get off the desk.”

“Quit being a pessimist,” she scolds. 

“I’m being serious Cara. They said my new heart will only function at 70-80%. It’s not as good as my old one.”

“Yes, well your old one was swiss cheese.”

He huffs, “You know what I’m saying.”

“And I’m saying I will continue to drag your sorry ass around the track until you can get your run time back down to where it needs to be so you can pass the PT test.”

“Dragging me around the track wouldn’t very well be passing, would it?”

“You know, you’re just asking for an ass beating, Djarin.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he scoffs. Like a flash of lighting, Cara is up from her seat and Tiff looks at her with horror. 

“Cara, no!”

But Cara is already on the other side of the table, pulling him into a headlock and messing his hair up. “Tell me you’ll quit being a pessimistic, little shit.”

“No,” he grumbles, trying to break free. 

“Cara stop. He’s going to hurt himself!” Tiff scolds. 

“Say it!” She continues ruffling his hair. 

“Fine! Fine! Just let me go!” He has a hold of her forearm, but isn’t struggling against her. 

“Saaayyy it.”

“I’ll try and get off the desk.”

“Good.”

“You two are going to be the death of me,” Tiffany puts her head in her hands. 

Din goes back to feed his son, who has taken matters into his own hands - quite literally. Spaghetti is all over the boy’s hands and fingers. The baby looks at him like he might get in trouble, but Din just starts laughing. 

Yeah, everything is going to be alright. 

~

“Winta please help me carry these boxes,” Omera sighs as she walks down the ramp of the moving truck for the umpteenth time. 

“No!” The little girl crosses her arms and stomps her foot. 

“Excuse me?” Omera asks, putting her hands on her hips. 

“I don’t even want this stupid house!” She stomps her foot again. 

With a sigh, Omera goes back down the ramp and crouches in front of her daughter. “Sweetie, look at me.”

Grudgingly, she does. 

“I’m going to miss our old house too… But sometimes we have to make big, adult decisions that we don’t really want to.”

“Like moving?”

“Exactly like moving.”

Winta looks at her toes, digging one into the dirt. “I guess I can help.”

“When we get everything unloaded and unpacked we can order a pizza and watch a movie. How does that sound?” She asks, standing to her full height and pulling her daughter into her side. 

“Can we watch Tangled?” Winta questions, craning her neck to look at her mother. 

“Of course,” Omera squeezes her and they pick up a few boxes to move them into the house. 

~

The next day, Omera spends most of her day unpacking while Winta rides her bike up and down the sidewalk. After she finishes unpacking the kitchen - an accomplishment in and of itself - she takes a quick break. Her only true goal for the day is to bake  _ something _ . It’s always best to make something for someone else for the first time in a new kitchen; it’s a sign of hospitality and friendship for the future. 

So, after lunch, she turns up the jazz music and starts baking banana bread. Three loaves, two for her neighbors and one for herself. Luckily, she had a bushel of bananas that had gotten bruised in the move. It was the perfect solution to a bruised-food dilemma. 

Winta stands next to her gleefully mashing the bananas and asks, “So why are we doing this?” 

“Because it’s a nice thing to do and we should introduce ourselves,” Omera answers easily, taking the bowl from Winta to add to her mixture. 

“Why?”

“Well, we’re new here.”

“Do you think they have kids?” She asks, trying to stick her finger in the batter before Omera playfully swats it away. 

“They might. That’s why we should introduce ourselves.”

Winta shrugs. “I really hope they have kids…”

“You know what I do know?” Omera asks, gently swaying her hips to the upbeat song playing on the radio. 

“What?”

“That you’re my favorite dance partner,” Omera sweeps Winta from her stool and they start dancing around the kitchen, giggling.

After the bread is baked - and a true dance party has been had - Omera neatly wraps up the loaves. Winta quickly gets dressed in her  _ favorite _ outfit - a bright turquoise dress, purple galaxy leggings, and her dark purple high top sneakers. Once Winta deems them ready, they head to the house on their left first, the one with the nice Cadillac in the driveway. 

Omera lets Winta ring the doorbell and they both stand there, bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of their feet. Omera feels nervous butterflies swirling in her stomach for the first time in what feels like forever. Lately, she has only been feeling an overwhelming, oppressive sadness. An emotion so heavy, that she welcomes the fluttering nausea. 

The door swings open and reveals an old man sporting a worrisome beer gut and wife-beater tank top. Winta immediately ducks behind her mother. 

“What do you want?” He growls. 

Clears her throat slightly, Omera answers. “I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Omera and this is my daughter Winta… We moved in next door.”

He stares at her blankly, looking utterly confused as to why she is over here. 

“Um. I baked you bread?” She offers the first loaf. 

He snatches the bread and says, “Keep your kid out of my yard.” And the door slams shut.

In utter disbelief of the exchange, Omera stands there. What just happened? She hadn’t thought someone could be so,  _ incredibly _ , rude. She now stands corrected. 

“I don’t like him,” Winta mumbles from behind her. 

“Maybe we just caught him at a bad time, let’s go see the other neighbor.”

“I don’t wanna,” Winta protests lightly. 

“Come on, maybe this one will be nice,” she holds out her hand and Winta takes it. 

As they walk up to the door, Omera says a silent prayer that this neighbor is a little less gruff. She’s not certain Winta will be able to handle being scared twice in one day. She offers to let Winta ring the doorbell again, but the child refuses, cowering behind her mom once more. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Omera rings the doorbell and steps back. They wait. And they wait. Omera glances at the truck in the driveway and back to the door. Maybe they weren’t home? It’s three o’clock on a Saturday. 

The door pulls open and reveals a disheveled middle-aged man. His hair is wildly askew, he looks exhausted, and is wearing plaid pajama pants and an FBI hoodie. Omera suddenly feels a pang of guilt for having woken him… at three o’clock on a Saturday. Maybe her neighbors aren’t as nice as she originally thought. Or maybe he happens to work in the evenings. Now she really feels terrible. She remembers when David worked third shift at the hospital during his residency, he was always perpetually exhausted. Trying to sleep during the day is nigh impossible. No one ever respects the fact that one must _sleep_ during the day if they have work at night. Now here she is, waking this poor man. 

“Hello?” He asks, clearly confused as to why a woman is standing on his porch with a loaf of bread. Shaking herself from her reverie, Omera begins to think that this was overall a terrible idea. 

“Hi, I just moved in next door. My name is Omera and this is my daughter Winta,” she steps aside slightly to reveal the small, young girl behind her.

“Hi,” he reaches out, “Din.” They shake hands. 

“I made bread,” she says stupidly, almost cringing at her own awkward delivery. “I, uh, I think it's always best that the first thing made in a kitchen is made for someone else so,” she goes to hand him the bread and he accepts. 

“Thank you… this is very kind,” he nods. 

She smiles. He seems really sweet and just when she is about to say goodbye he says, “Have you - um,” he shifts his weight and runs a hand through his messy hair. “I just had a pretty major surgery, but I’d still like to help you guys if you need anything. I make pretty decent spaghetti if you would like to come over for dinner one night.”

“You just had surgery?” She asks incredulously. “I should be asking if you need anything!”

His eyes widen and, suddenly afraid that she has overstepped, she says, “But spaghetti sounds lovely.”

“Yeah, okay,” he smiles. “Is there a time that works best?”

“Anytime after five. I go back to work Monday,” she answers.

“Okay, next Thursday?”

She returns his smile, “Perfect.”

“Great,” he nods. 

They are in a limbo now, neither one certain who should say goodbye first. The strained silence is broken when Winta - with a sudden burst of courage - emerges from behind her mother, and chirps, “Hey.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his tone is so gentle that Omera immediately knows he’s a father.

“Do you have any kids?” She asks, twisting her hips to drag her toe across the wood on the porch.

He nods. “I have a son. He’s staying with his aunt right now, though.”

Winta perks up and looks up at her mom. 

Din looks between the mother and daughter, clearly confused, and Omera clarifies, “Winta has been very concerned that there are no children in this neighborhood.”

“Oh,” Din smirks a little. “Yeah, there’s not very many. A lot of retired people live here… part of the reason why I picked this neighborhood,” he looks down at his slippers. 

“I understand that,” Omera agrees. “Anyway, I guess I’ll leave you to your recovery.”

He looks pained - probably because he’s recovering from surgery, Omera guesses- as she and her daughter take their leave. Walking down the porch, Omera says to her daughter, “See that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Winta shakes her head, “No! I’m excited to meet his son! I hope he comes home soon!” 

Omera pulls her daughter closer and they re-enter their new home with a renewed sense of excitement. 

~

The banana bread just might be the best banana bread he has ever tasted in his entire life. Rewrapping it, he tells himself  _ no more _ . If he keeps eating like this he will be bigger than the broad side of a barn and  _ definitely _ won’t pass his PT test. Then Cara really will beat his ass, and honestly, he doesn’t feel like getting a beating from her. Cara doesn’t pull punches, not even when she’s hitting a friend. 

So he pulls out his clunky, old, laptop and prepares for another night of uncomfortable silence in his own home. It’s too quiet here without his son. He’s grown used to hearing him babble in the corner, so talkative - but never saying any real words. Every night they sit together and read or play and without him here, his nights just feel… grey. 

The first thing he does is check his email because… he might as well. Work hasn’t been emailing him due to his extensive leave of absence. If he’s lucky, maybe there will be an interesting reddit notification and he can just scroll through blogs until he falls asleep - 

_ Donor Response Letter  _

He stares at the header for a few beats as he wills his brand new heart to stop racing. He clicks it. 

_ Mr. Djrain _

He sighs. How hard is it to spell his last name? It’s  _ literally  _ in his email. He keeps reading. 

_ Attached please find the response from the next of kin. Let me know if you would like to send a response.  _

_ Respectfully,  _

_ Beth _

His palms are sweaty. Should he open it? Of course he should open it! What’s the worst that could happen? His mind quickly flashes through all the worst case scenarios, the person hates him, sends him a letter wishing he was dead, etc. No, that wouldn’t happen, they have to screen these, right?

He opens it. 

_ Hello,  _

_ Your name was redacted in your previous letter due to patient confidentiality, but I would like to thank you for your kind letter. It is nice to know that my late husband’s heart went to someone as decent as you. Life without him has been difficult to adjust to, and I’d like to not talk about that currently. Instead, I’d like to tell you more about him.  _

_ My late husband was… an angel. God truly blessed me when He sent this man into my life. D and I met when we were in college, both coming from troubled pasts it felt easy to be his friend. Falling in love with him? It was like sinking the final puzzle piece into a long incomplete puzzle.  _

_ D was a surgeon. He was loved by so many. He made frequent trips to impoverished parts of the world to provide humanitarian aid. The man lived to serve others, and I guess that was one of the many reasons I love him. There was not a single moment where he put himself before others, not once.  _

_ When I found out that he was dying, there was really only one choice. His final wishes would have been to serve others, which leads to us meeting - even if the circumstances are bittersweet. I hope that you continue to write me, and that you continue to update me on your recovery. From what little internet research I have performed, heart replacements can be terribly rough on the body.  _

_ Kindly,  _

_ Optimistic _

He wipes a tear threatening to spill over. It took a while to hear from her, but  _ Optimistic _ sounds like a wonderful person. She doesn’t deserve to be a widow, not with how much she loved her husband. 

No. 

He tries to push that thought away. If he starts placing value on one person’s life over another he will never be able to move on from this transplant. He has a dead man’s heart. Knowing  _ Optimistic _ just makes that realization so much worse. He stole her dead husband’s heart. 

He closes his laptop and tries to tell himself that it’s not his fault. That he’s guilty of nothing. 

Nevertheless, he lays awake that night, tossing and turning, thinking about  _ Optimistic _ alone, wherever she may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for hanging all the way to chapter five for our mandomera meeting! I appreciate all your comments and kudos, they really inspire me to keep writing this!
> 
> P.S. For anyone wondering this chapter title is a translation of a Cervantes quote.
> 
> P.P.S. I have no idea why I gave Peli the title of Grandma. We sticking with it though.


	6. Food Builds Friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendships are formed, food is eaten.

Din flurries around the house - which doesn’t really look much like flurrying as it does a middle-aged man hobbling around as quickly as possible - trying to pick up any messes before his neighbor and her daughter show up. He’s already forgotten _both_ of their names, but he’s hoping it will just naturally come up in conversation. He’s terrible with names - something the squad teases him endlessly for - and combined with the copious amount of pain meds he is taking, there is simply no hope for him remembering anything right now. He would lose his head if it weren’t attached. 

The doorbell rings and he stands upright, smoothing down his hair. _Relax_ , he chides himself. It’s not like this is his first time having dinner guests… It’s just the first time he is having dinner guests that _aren’t_ part of his squad. And if he finds his neighbor whose-name-can't-be-remembered sort of pretty, then that’s no big deal at all. Nope, nothing to be worried about at all. 

He opens the door. 

“Hi!” The neighbor chirps. Her daughter stands by her, holding a bag full of what appears to be toys and other assorted fun things to do. 

“Come in,” he - to the best of his ability - holds open the glass door for them while they enter. The pulling of the stitches in his chest is easily ignored when she brushes past him to enter. She smells amazing, like lavender and laundry detergent. 

“Your home is lovely,” she comments, taking in what he would consider a rather barren arrangement of furniture. Until about a year ago, he has always lived by himself. Now that he has his son, he’s trying to make some changes. Those changes, however, were quickly thwarted by The Accident and the medical bills that followed thereafter. 

“Thank you,” he nods. They stand in the living room awkwardly, her holding a tray of what looks like some sort of delectable dessert. “Uh, let me take that for you,” he offers to take it and she pulls away. 

“You’re still recovering from surgery, let me set it somewhere,” she counters. 

Bashfully, he looks down at his feet and then back up at her. “In the kitchen,” he leads her into the kitchen and she sets it down on the counter. 

Her daughter is still in the living room and he hears her ask, “Is this your son?” 

Shuffling back out, Din looks at the picture of him and his son on a swing set. Tiffany had taken the picture one day when they all went to the park. Din was sitting in the swing, his son on his lap and Cara behind them, pushing the swing. Everyone in the picture is laughing joyfully and the sun is behind them, illuminating everyone in a warm golden-hour glow. This was taken right after the adoption went through, before The Accident. This was also taken moments before Cara managed to push them high enough to elicit the most joyous squeal from his son he had ever heard while simultaneously performing the dangerous stunt of an underdog. 

“Yeah,” he answers, realizing he was taking too long to answer. 

“How old is he?” The girl asks. 

“Almost two,” Din answers. 

“I can’t wait to meet him!” She beams. 

“I’m sure you two will become as thick as thieves,” Omera laughs. 

The timer on the oven dings, spurring Din into the kitchen. “That would be the garlic bread.”

“Garlic bread too? Perhaps I should have brought wine as well,” she chuckles following him in. 

“I can’t drink,” Din responds, trying not to wince at his direct delivery. He can’t drink for a multitude of reasons. First and foremost he’s on several pain killers. Secondly, after the heart replacement, he was informed that he wouldn’t be allowed to drink anymore. This is fine, really, he didn’t drink much before The Accident anyway. Most of the time, he nobly served as Cara’s designated driver. 

“That’s right. How are you doing with your recovery?” She asks, hovering near him.

Placing the garlic bread on the stove top, he tries to get the plates from the top shelf of his cabinet, except his range of motion is still poor and he grumbles when he can’t. 

“Here, let me,” she gently pushes him aside and easily grabs three plates. “Sorry, I don’t mean to help myself, but…” she trails off. 

“No. It’s okay. Recovery is slow, I still can’t move my arms very well. Thank you.” He forces himself to take a deep breath, his mind still focusing on what it felt to have her fingertips pressed against his side. 

Although, he does appreciate that she doesn’t pry and ask what exactly his surgery was for. He’s not certain he could answer it without getting frustrated with himself. When he first got the news of his new heart, he was elated. Now, he has to face the sad reality that someone lost their husband and he now has a piece of him. 

A smart man would have connected those dots long before the surgery, but he never claimed to be smart. 

“So,” she stands next to him while he piles spaghetti on the plates. “What do you do when you’re not recovering from a massive surgery?”

“Do you mean for work?”

“Sure,” she shrugs and sets two plates on the table. 

He makes a slightly smaller one for her daughter and hands it to her. Quickly, he tosses the garlic bread into a bowl and joins her at the table. “Well, I’m an FBI Agent. I’ve been riding the desk for about a year, but I was a lead agent. We…” he looks at her daughter, realizing that his occupation is probably not suited for little ears. “We hunted down really bad guys.”

Omera smiles at his censorship and looks to Winta, who is waiting patiently to dive in. “Do you mind if we say grace?” Omera asks. 

A little surprised Din nods, “Of course, please.”

“Go ahead, Winta,” Omera says. 

“Dear God, thanks for this awesome spaghetti, may you bless it to our bodies and please help me pass my spelling test tomorrow, Amen.”

Both of the adults chuckle as they start eating. Winta digs and, with a mouth full, says, “This is really good.”

Omera shoots her a look and her daughter swallows. “This is really good Mr. Din, sir. Thank you”

He chuckles softly and says, “You can just call me Din, really.” he stirs his own pasta around his plate and asks Omera. “So what do you do?”

“For fun or for work?”

He shrugs as he takes a bite. 

“I’m a first grade teacher. Every day is a new excitement. For fun? Well, I can’t remember,” she sighs as she stirs her pasta too. “We’ve been so busy with the move I don’t remember the last thing we’ve done for fun.”

“Mmm,” the girl swallows and says, “Blanket fort.”

“That’s right, we did do a blanket fort our first night here,” she chuckles. “We hadn’t assembled our beds yet and we were so tired.”

“Blanket forts are pretty fun,” Din agrees. 

Winta gasps. “YOU MAKE BLANKET FORTS TOO!?”

He laughs. “I’m sure they’re nowhere near as great as yours.”

“Mom! He makes blanket forts.”

“I know, I heard.”

“Can we make one after dinner!?” She exclaims. 

“No, baby, we don’t want to wear out our welcome.”

The girl humphs. 

“How about when my boy comes back to live with me, we can have a movie night and build a blanket fort? If we combine all our blankets it’ll be the biggest blanket fort,” Din offers with a smile.

Her daughter looks to her expectantly and Omera nods. “That sounds nice.”

~

After dinner, she helps him clean up the kitchen. He protests, but she reminds him that he’s recovering from surgery and that he doesn’t have the option. With a sigh, he acquiesces and they stand at the sink, him washing and her drying and putting things away with the aid of his direction. It’s nice, both of them doing dishes. She almost forgot what it was like to be around another adult. Of course, she adores her daughter’s company, but there is something about a comfortable adult conversation without gossip. The teacher’s lounge at school is a nightmare in this regard. All the other teachers ever do is talk about who is doing what with who, whose parents are the most annoying and, this is the worst, which child is the weirdest. She shudders at the thought.

“So… what kind of ‘bad guys’ did you hunt while working for the Bureau?” She inquires as she stacks a plate in the oak cabinet. 

He washes a plate and hands it to her. “I work on the human-trafficking prevention task force. A lot of what we see are women and children being bought and sold,” he clears his throat. “That’s, uh, actually how I was able to adopt my son.”

“Oh I just assumed that the woman in the picture out there was your wife.” _And that he is your biological son_ , she leaves unsaid. 

He laughs at that and she notices the way his eyes crinkle when he does. “No, my work wife maybe, but not my _actual_ wife. She’s my partner at the bureau.”

“Well your boy is very lucky to have you.”

“I think the feeling is mutual,” he answers and pulls the stopper, letting the dirty dishwater flow down the drain.

She hands him the dish towel for him to dry his hands. “Do you need anything? From the store that is,” she can feel the blush rising to her cheeks. She likes to help people and sometimes that can come off creepy, or at least that’s what she’s been told. “I go to the grocery every Saturday morning. Winta and I go to the store and then get donuts afterwards.” David used to go with them, but she’s not ready to talk about her late husband, not yet. 

“I don’t think soo…” he trails off, hanging the towel back over the oven handle. “Cara, my partner, brings me groceries on Friday after work.” 

“Well, let me give you my number just in case you ever need anything. Sometimes it takes a village.”

“Yeah,” he pulls his phone out of the front pocket and hands it to her after unlocking it. 

She quickly types her name and phone number in and hands it back to him. _Omera_ , that’s right. He knew it was something different, but he couldn’t remember. Trying not to feel like a complete fool, he types out a quick message and hits send.

She pulls her phone from her back pocket after it whistles, and she says, “This was a lot of fun… When you feel up to it, we should do it again.”

“Sure,” his lips quirk up into a half smile and she can’t help but reciprocate. 

~

With a soft kiss to the forehead, Omera tucks Winta in to sleep. Her new room is coming together nicely, she has her bed and her bookshelf as well as her totes with her toys inside. Most importantly, she has her galaxy night light projecting twinkling stars onto the ceiling. Cracking the door open, Omera wanders out into the kitchen and sits at the table. She pulls out her laptop and scrolls through her email, finding one from Beth, the case worker. 

Immediately she opens the attachment, not even bothering to read the body of Beth’s email. 

_Dear Optimistic,_

_I’m so happy that you chose to share such touching information about your late husband. He sounds like he was a wonderful man. The world will certainly be a darker place without his selflessness. I can only hope to work towards being half the man that he was._

_Recovery is going about as well as can be expected. It has been a few weeks since I was weaned off the oxygen, which is nice. I’ve been lugging an oxygen tank around for a little over six months and can certainly say that I am happy to be rid of it. In a few days, the doctors will hopefully approve me to lift more than ten pounds and I will be able to hold my son again. It’s the little things in life for which I am grateful._

_I hope to hear from you again._

_Kindly,_

_Devout_

Her heart flutters. Devout? Son? She feels like he gifted her a small slice of getting to know him. Knowing that he is a father fills her with some sense of relief. She had selfishly been worried that her late husband’s heart was going to go to someone who didn’t deserve it. Then she just felt bad about thinking of any one person being more deserving than another. Really, the only person that deserved David’s heart was David, but God has different plans sometimes. 

Rising from the table, she closes her laptop lid and goes to sleep in her bed. 

~

Cara takes Friday off to drive Din to his doctor’s appointment. When he emerges from his home, he looks a thousand times better than he did last Friday. His skin isn’t so pale, his eyes aren’t so droopy, and he is holding himself much straighter. He’s wearing a baggy hoodie to cover the drains protruding from his incision wound, jeans, and his favorite black adidas sneakers. His hair, of course, is windswept and Cara makes a note to give him a comb this year for his birthday. 

“Hey,” he says as he slides in. Behind him, his son chirps with excitement upon seeing his dad. 

“Hey,” she nods, putting the Jeep in reverse. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” he tries to twist around in order to tickle his son, but grimaces and turns back around. “Yeah physical therapy has been helping a lot.”

“How hot is your physical therapist?” 

He glares at her. “Not very considering he’s a grumpy old man who is likely a masochist.” 

Cara rolls her eyes. “Djarin, you’re glowing. What happened, did you change your skin care routine? Did you get laid? Come on, you know you can tell me,” she shoots him a grin and he rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t have a skin care routine.”

“So you got laid.”

“Cara, I swear… _No_ , I didn’t get laid. I’ve been drinking a ton of water and eating my fruits and vegetables. Happy?”

She sighs. “You’re so defensive. Jeez. I just wanted to know why you’re looking perky today.”

“I had dinner with the new neighbor and her daughter last night,” he offers casually, looking out the window. 

“Wait the same new neighbor who brought you banana bread?!” Cara exclaims, glancing over at him.

“Yeah.”

“Djarin, are you telling me that you had dinner with a woman who isn’t me or my sexy-ass wife and you didn’t say anything?”

"I just did and it was just dinner,” he scoffs.

“No. She brought you _bread_ and then came over? She totally has the hots for you, man.”

“No she doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

He doesn’t dignify her with a response. 

“Is she cute?”

He whips his head around to glare at her, but doesn’t answer that question either. 

“She’s totally hot isn’t she?”

“Shut up, Cara.”

~

Thankfully, Din gets approved to lift more than ten pounds and he’s two weeks away from being approved to drive again. Everything is looking up and when he plops down the floor with his boy and his boy’s favorite plush frog, Din’s the happiest he’s been since the heart replacement. 

His son seems happy to be back as well and babbles excitedly like he is telling his father all about the adventures Auntie Cara took him on. 

There must have been several adventures. 

Din listens intently to the babble and adds comments that spur the conversation onward, “Yeah, sounds pretty interesting, buddy.” And then the little boy erupts with another long-winded tale. 

By eight thirty, the boy has talked himself to sleep. Passed out on the floor, he drools all over his plushie. Din, as smoothly as one can with fresh stitches - the doctor also removed the drains, which is a great relief - picks up his son and carries him upstairs. He leans him into the crib, earning only a soft protest from the slumbering tot, when he lays him down. 

Watching his little boy snooze, Din stands at the door for a while. He really just can’t believe it. He was given an impossible hand, but here he is, alive and with a beautiful son. With a deep inhale, he turns and lets the boy sleep. 

Din goes downstairs to investigate what all groceries Cara brought. It looks like everything is accounted for, but there is a small note written in her scrawl on the fridge.

 _I forgot the applesauce_. 

He smirks. He can _almost_ always count on her to bring the staples; but if she truly loves him… He opens the freezer. 

She _does_ love him. 

Pulling out the raspberry ice cream that he definitely shouldn’t be eating, he goes out into the living room. Spoon in hand, he plops down in his favorite spot on the couch and pulls up his phone. His son _really_ loves applesauce and probably would be miserable an entire week without it. 

Taking a bite of ice cream, he opens up the text message app on his phone. 

_Hey, it’s your neighbor Din. I was wondering if I can ask a favor?_ Before he can over think it too much, he hits send. 

The ellipsis appears, bouncing up and down and then stops. 

Maybe he should have opened with asking her how she is doing. 

The ellipsis appears again and then disappears. 

Or he could have just walked to the store, this is terrible. His stomach churns with regret and he sets his phone down with disgust, only to snatch it back up again when it vibrates. 

_Hello! Of course, what do you need??_

He takes a deep breath. _Are you still going to the grocery tomorrow? Cara forgot applesauce on her grocery run. Not sure we could survive the week without it._

_Oh! I can just pick that up for you! You need the squeezable kind right? Every baby loves those._

He debates whether or not this is the right thing to do, to send her on his errand for him. _If you could, that would be great. I’ll pay you back._

_Don’t worry about it! What are friends for?_

He stares at the screen with a dopey grin plastered to his face. He and Omera are friends, already? That was probably the easiest thing he has ever done in his entire life. _Thank you. I appreciate it_. He hits send and quickly shoves another bite of ice cream in his mouth. 

_So you have your son back with you permanently?_

_Yeah. We’re both pretty excited_.

She sends a smiley face and he has to get up and pace around his coffee table to calm down. He exhales sharply. Does he have butterflies? This is stupid. He cannot be forty-five and have a crush on his neighbor. No. Cara would never let him hear the end of it. 

He looks at the smiley face on his phone and grins anyway. 

~

Omera meanders through the store, following her mental checklist. “Momma don’t forget the applesauce,” Winta chirps as she skips along, jumping from one colored tile to another colored tile. 

“I won’t, baby,” she says as she adds a couple boxes of pasta to her cart. _There_ , now she just needs the applesauce and a gallon of milk and she should be done. 

“Momma I have a question.”

“What’s up, sweetie?” Omera asks as she leads them to the aisle with the applesauces. 

“Instead of eating at the donut place today, can we bring donuts to Mr. Din?” 

Omera nearly stops walking. “What? I mean, why?”

Winta shrugs, clearly not seeing how shocked her mom is. “Well, you said he had surgery right? _And_ his son his back and I really wanna meet his son, but I think Mr. Din deserves donuts.”

“Why is that?” Omera smiles and grabs the applesauce pouches, putting one in the cart. 

“Cause going to the doctor sucks.”

Omera smirks, and pulls her daughter close. 

“I’m sure we can bring them donuts.” She pulls out her phone anyway, just in case. 

~

_How do you feel about donuts?_

He’s bouncing his son on his hip, phone in hand as he reads the text message. How does he feel about donuts? He swallows down the nervous butterflies rising from his stomach, tightening his throat and quickly types out, _I’ve never met an offensive donut._

He sends it and the nervous butterflies might as well be pterodactyls soaring around in his stomach at this point. What is he doing? Trying to be funny over text? Half the time his jokes go over without any laughs anyway. 

His phone vibrates and he instantly has the text open. 

It’s the crying laughing emoji and a message that says: _Well Winta would like to bring you and your boy some donuts. Any flavor you find more appealing than the others?_

_Since you’re asking, blueberry is my favorite._

She sends him thumbs up emoji and he tries to ease his racing heart. His son looks at him as if he can sense the nervous energy wafting off of his father. 

“What are you looking at?” Din asks the child, knowing full well that he isn’t going to get a response. 

~

Winta grabs bags of groceries and practically sprints into the house. Omera had told her that the sooner they unload the groceries, the sooner they can bring the donuts over to their neighbor’s and this has Winta busting into high gear. 

Omera can’t help but smile, watching her daughter. This is easily the happiest she has seen her after the passing of David. It’s been a little over a month, and while she still feels the dull ache of loss from time to time, she is now able to appreciate these bubbles of happiness they find themselves in. 

Their new neighbor and his bouncing baby boy, so happens to be one of those bubbles of happiness.

When the groceries have all been put away, Omera lets her daughter carry the box of donuts, while she carries the sack with two boxes of applesauce pouches.

“Ring the doorbell,” Omera instructs, as they go up the steps of his front porch. 

Winta does, and bounces on her toes while she waits. 

The door pulls open and there stands her neighbor, a small smile on his face and a beautiful toddler sucking his thumb on his hip. “Come on in, guys.”

Omera returns his smile and takes him in. He looks good, wearing a soft flannel and plain black shirt, jeans, and black socks; he looks comfortable and healthy. 

“How was the store?” He asks, leading Omera into the kitchen, where Winta has already darted and put the box of donuts on the table. 

“It was nice, Winta was very helpful, made sure I didn’t forget the precious cargo,” she pats her bag. “Is there a place I can put this, by the way?” She asks. 

“You can just set it on the counter for now,” he straps his little boy into the high chair and moves over to the coffee pot. “Would you like some?” He asks, motioning towards it. 

“If you don’t mind,” she smiles. 

As he pours the coffee, he asks, “Cream or sugar?”

“Cream, and this is so strange, but do you have any cinnamon?”

“Yeah,” he pulls it down from his spice cupboard and hands it to her along with the cream. “It’s not strange, I put cinnamon in my coffee too when I’m at home. At the office, it’s just easier to just drink it black.”

She nods. “I bring a whole canteen of coffee with me to work, just because I can’t stand the teacher’s lounge provisions.”

He chuckles at this and brings a roll of paper towels to the table. If he knows his son, this is about to be a sticky, sugary mess. Omera quickly says grace before the children tear into their donuts and everyone dives in. Din slowly breaks off pieces of the donut covered in chocolate icing and feeds it to his boy while he munches on his blueberry donut. 

“So, does this little man have a name?” Omera asks, poking the tot in his stomach and eliciting a giggle. 

“Diego,” Din answers and takes a sip of coffee. 

“Hi Diego!” Winta smiles and waves. The little boy waves back and Winta nearly falls off of her chair with joy. “After this can we go outside and play?” Winta bounces. 

Omera looks to Din and he looks wary. “I don’t know,” he begins and Omera smiles softly. 

“I think they’ll be fine just in the backyard.”

Squelching down the unnecessary fear churning in his stomach he nods. “Yeah okay.”

Both the mother and daughter beam and he blushes. 

~

Winta, against every paternal instinct Din has developed, has carried Diego down the back porch and they are now playing and giggling in the backyard. Din watches for a while from the back door, before he hears Omera rustling in his kitchen, cleaning up even though it is _his_ kitchen. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, tearing his eyes away from the two children. 

“Yes I do,” she gives him a soft smile and his heart starts racing again. She’s really pretty, like _really_ pretty. She’s wearing a dark turquoise hoodie, jeans, and mismatched socks. Her dark hair is pulled loosely up in a bun, leaving strands framing her face. She finishes rinsing off a plate and sets it on the counter to drip dry. 

Picking up a towel, Din starts drying as he struggles to find something to talk about. He wants to ask her about work, about teaching, but _every_ adult talks about work. Would it be boring? He could talk about the weather, but that leaves very little opportunity to move to another topic _and_ those types of conversations are meaningless and, in Din’s opinion, painful. Who just randomly talks about the weather? Boring middle-aged people trying to flirt with their cute neighbors, that’s who. 

“Kinda crazy how cold it still is,” Din comments as he puts a plate in the cabinet. 

She hums in the affirmative. “Yeah, recess duty has been pretty frigid. Plus keeping up with all of my first graders gloves and hats is enough to be a full time job on its own.”

He chuckles, “I can imagine. Do you like teaching?” He asks, mentally kicking himself. Here he goes now, talking about work. 

She lights up and turns to him. “It’s the most magical thing in the whole world, I love teaching.”

“Really?” He asks, letting himself relax. Good, this conversation is good. 

“Yes. There is just,” her hands still in the soapy water. “You’ll see it as your son gets older. But that ‘aha’ moment, when you see some new concept finally clicks in their mind. Or,” she grins. “Or when they learn something really new, like how many planets there are or that cells are in every living being. It’s… a gift, really.” 

He, too, has stilled. “That sounds…” he trails off, beautiful? “Magical,” he smiles, echoing her earlier. 

She returns his smile and then quickly looks down, unplugging the sink and setting the stopper on the counter. “So how has Diego re-acclimated to living with you again?”

“He’s doing pretty well,” Din motions for them to step out onto the porch. He has a small patio set out there that was frequently used for game nights in the summer. “Apparently he and Auntie Cara had several adventures. He talked so much he fell asleep his first night back. Uh, not that he’s actually talking - he kind of just babbles.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about the babbling, bilingual children, and children who have suffered a traumatic experience, tend to be late bloomers when it comes to talking.”

He nods, appreciating that she just _knows_ . His son had been abandoned in a warehouse, no sign of anyone there to love him or treat him as an infant should be treated. Not only that, but Din _had_ been trying to speak in Spanish and English with him. When that didn’t work, he tried signing too; the poor kid is probably so confused at this point, it is lucky he knows how to babbly at all. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Omera asks, holding her coffee cup close. It is late March, but the wind is still chilly. 

Din sighs. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m… the best choice for this whole parenting thing.” He feels like maybe this is too heavy of a topic, but she feels so warm and open, he wants to pour his entire life story into her lap. 

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are the perfect parent for that boy. We’re not here to do it alone, or do it perfectly. As parents we’re here to love them unconditionally and show them that this big, scary world is full of hope and wonder.”

She’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. For a moment, he feels his heart lurch and he takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” she winks, and turns her head to watch the children in the yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm super sorry that this chapter was super long or if there were any terrible errors. I definitely didn't proof read this as many times as I should have. 
> 
> Either way, I am grateful for your support and hope this chapter served as a nice reward for all the angst I put you through for the first chapters! <3


	7. The Favor of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Favors are the seedlings of a blossoming friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a wee bit of spoiler, but also a trigger warning here. Din gets pneumonia in this chapter. I wanted to let you know since due to the whole COVID thing, some folks may not want to read about a respiratory illness. If that applies to you, stop reading when Omera tells Winta "Trust me, you will". I'll put a chapter summary at the end describing what happens in the hospital for you.

_Dear Devout,_

_I’m happy to hear that your recovery is going smoothly. I have prayed for your pain to be lessened and your family to be happy. If I may ask, how is your son doing? I have a daughter, and hearing the tales of young minds fills my heart with joy. After the death of her father, my daughter struggled for some time. In a way, I think she thought it was her fault. D died due to a head on collision with a drunk driver, he died instantly. In no way could that ever be her fault. Little minds are magical things though; they take leaps and bounds that aren’t always justified._

_I look forward to hearing from you,_

_Optimistic_

_Dear Optimistic,_

_My son is doing well. He loves being back home, especially with all of his stuffed animals. We recently went out for our first ice cream cone of the season, and at almost two years old I’m sure you can picture how well that went._

_I’m sorry to hear about your daughter. I understand the pain she must be feeling. I lost both of my parents at a very young age. It is difficult to grow up thinking that you’re alone in this big, scary world. However, I have faith that she will grow up knowing love, because she has you for a mother. Not many people would be so kind to a man who robbed their loved one of his heart. I’m grateful._

_Sincerely,_

_Devout_

_Dear Devout,_

_You were not the one who robbed me of my husband, so please don’t ever think that. I have stewed upon this for quite some time, but all I can say was that it was an accident. A child drank and drove; their life is over just as much as my husband’s. The last I heard they were being charged with vehicular homicide. The poor child will never know what life is like without such a terrible felony on their record. Am I a terrible person for being happy about that?_

_You are a_ _good_ _person, don’t let yourself think otherwise._

_Optimistic_

_Dear Optimistic,_

_I think perhaps you should take some of your own advice._ _You_ _are a_ _good_ _person, and you shouldn’t let yourself think otherwise either. Personally, I don’t know if I could ever forgive that kid. They got what was coming to them._

_In other news, the trees are starting to bloom, which is nice. This is probably going to sound really sappy, but I love the change of the seasons. I’m partial to winter (I like being bundled) but my favorite part of the year are those transitionary periods. A bird built a nest on the light above my garage and I think spring has finally sprung._

_Sincerely,_

_Devout_

_Dear Devout,_

_I love springtime. I love that the weather is thawing, that the world is no longer blanketed in the silence that is brought by several inches of snow. You know what I’m talking about, right? We used to live further out of the city than we do now, and after that first snowfall, the world was always silent. No animals would be stirring, no people rushing around the streets. Now we live closer to the city, and I don’t know if we will ever hear that kind of deafening silence again. It’s probably for the best anyway; when it’s too quiet I find myself missing D._

_May I ask where you live? Or is that too forward of me?_

_Keep me updated on the bird’s nest,_

_Optimistic_

_Dear Optimistic,_

_I currently reside just outside of Washington D.C. I work within the city, but have never been fond of living there. People are loud and messy; I much prefer my home in the suburbs._

_What about you?_

_The nest is under construction,_

_Devout_

_Dear Devout,_

_I, too, live just outside of Washington D.C. Perhaps if you feel up to it, I know that heart surgery is a lot (I can’t even imagine how tough recovery has been with a toddler), we could meet? There is a small coffee shop in the city that I have been meaning to try. I won’t take you to my favorite place, not yet. I don’t want to be afraid to go back if it ends up being too awkward and you like the coffee enough to become a regular like myself._

_I’m only kidding, we can go to my favorite place if you like._

_Optimistic_

_Dear Optimisitc,_

_I would love to meet up with you. If it’s okay, let’s plan for next saturday around two. Send me the address to the place you want to try. Life should always be an adventure; or at least I’ve been trying to branch out after the surgery. I’m very much a creature of habit._

_I can’t wait to meet you,_

_Devout_

_Devout,_

_The address is:_

_Grace Street Coffee Roasters_

_3210 Grace St NW, Washington, DC 20007_

_It’s along the Potomac, so if the place is too busy, at least we will have a place to walk._

_I share your excitement,_

_Optimistic_

~

“Wait, so you’re actually going to meet her?” Cara asks, keeping her eyes on the road as she navigates the grocery store parking lot.

Nodding, Din coughs into his elbow. “Yeah.”

“That sounds pretty nasty, my dude. You might want to go to the doc and have that checked out.”

He shakes his head and wheezes, “It’s just allergies.”

“The doc said that you can develop pneumonia. Have you been doing your breathing exercises like you're supposed to?”

He nods, “Yes, mom.”

Throwing the truck in park, she huffs. “I’m not trying to mother you, I’m trying to look out for you. You just had a brand new ticker put in, I don’t want to see you taken out by some stupid bacteria in your lung.”

“I promise it’s just allergies,” he scoffs.

Her eyebrows knit together in concern, “You promise?”

“Cara, I was at the doctor yesterday. You were _with_ me. If something looked suspicious, he would have said something.”

“You put too much faith in doctors,” she sighs and gets out of the truck. “So why am I coming with you again?”

“I’m asking myself the same question,” he mutters as he gets the stroller out and clasps his son in. 

“Oh yeah, that’s right. You were cleared for driving _yesterday._ ”

“Dune, a trip to the grocery store is not a cross-country road trip. I would have been fine.”

“Yes, well, the last time I left you alone when it didn’t feel like the right thing to do, you got blown up, so _excuse me_ for being a little bit hesitant. I’m only trusting my gut from here on out.”

He stops and looks at her. She has her arms crossed firmly across her chest and she is looking pointedly at her combat boots. “Dune, look at me.”

She does, begrudgingly so. She is trying to look tough, like she’s the certifiable badass that she is, but the tears glistening in her eyes give her away.

“The accident wasn’t your fault.”

She blinks and her voice cracks when she says, “It kinda was though.”

He shakes his head, “No it wasn’t.”

Tears spill down her cheeks. “I should have tried harder to get back to you.”

He pulls her into a hug, regardless that they are standing at the bed of his truck in the middle of a packed grocery store parking lot. “I don’t blame you for what happened. I never did.”

She hiccups and he tries to stifle a cough. “That better be fucking allergies, Djarin.”

He huffs a wet laugh. “I promise it is.”

~

The weather is breaking, he’s been cleared for driving, he and his cute neighbor are having dinner to celebrate tonight, and he has a date with _Optimistic_ later this week. Honestly, Din isn’t certain his life could be any better right now. Well, except for his chest. It’s been tight most of the morning. He did his breathing exercises, some stretches, took some ibuprofen, but he still feels tender. 

Now, he is enjoying changing the oil in his truck. It needed new oil before he had his operation and now he finally has time to get it back up and running, provided nothing else breaks on it, that is. 

Diego is in his playpen just a few feet away and he can hear the little boy’s garbles from underneath the truck. Craning his neck, Din glances at the toddler happily slobbering on his stuffed frog. With a chuckle, he turns back to work. 

It’s not long before he hears the spinning of bicycle tires breaking to a halt at the end of his driveway. “Whatcha doin’ Mr. Din?”

“Hey Winta,” he calls from under the truck, not bothering to pull himself out from under it at the moment. He’s almost got the bolt off… 

“Whatcha doin?” She lays flat on her stomach, bicycle helmet still on, and peers underneath the truck at him. 

“Changing the oil,” he explains as he finally unscrews the bolt and oil begins oozing into the oil pan. 

The girl watches as the black liquid flows and then asks, “Why don’t you have someone do it for you? That’s what daddy always did.”

He cranes his neck to look at her and she giggles. 

“What?”

“You got stuff on your face.”

He chuckles breathily and pulls himself, carefully, out from under the truck. Wiping off his face, he answers, “I don’t know. I guess I like doing it myself.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together as she considers his answer. “Why?”

Huffing another mostly silent laugh, he smiles, “I guess I just like working with my hands. It’s nice… It’s nice to see that my hard work accomplished something.”

She chews her bottom lip, still debating what exactly he is trying to explain here. 

“Do you want me to show you what I’m talking about?”

She nods fervently. 

“Okay,” he reaches under her chin and unsnaps her helmet. “Now be very careful, I don’t want you to cut yourself, okay?”

She nods and lays on her back to start wiggling her way under the car like Din had. He follows her under and points to the stream of liquid pouring out of the truck. “See that?”

She nods again. 

“That’s the oil. It’s black like that because it’s old.”

“What does the oil do?”

“It makes the engine… go.” He winces at his own simplistic explanation. His word choices never really matter when he is explaining things to his son, because, well, his son isn’t talking quite yet. 

“So you change it to make sure the engine still goes?” Winta looks over at him. 

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Soooo if oil makes the engine go, what does gas do?” She quizzes. 

Din opens his mouth to explain when he hears Omera call from next door. 

“Winta? Winta where are you? I told you to stay close!”

Far faster than Din could ever hope to crawl out from under the truck, Winta scrambles out and says, “I was watching Mr. Din change the oil in his truck! Did you know that oil makes the engine go? It’s sooooo cool. It’s all black and runny and goopy.”

“Din, is she bothering you?” Omera walks over into his yard, just as he is sitting up. “I’m so sorry, I told her she could ride her bike for a little while before she has to help with dinner.”

“It’s okay, really. I don’t mind,” he smiles. 

Omera returns his smile and puts a hand around her daughter’s shoulders. “Well as long it’s okay with you. Don’t be afraid to tell her to mind her own business.”

With a huff that could be mistaken for another chuckle, he vows, “I won’t.”

Omera stands there for a moment, sheepishly looking at her feet. In this moment, she looks just as young as her daughter. She is wearing her teaching clothes still, jeans and a light sweater, but her feet are angled in and her shoulders hunched slightly.

“Everything alright?” He asks, cleaning his hands on the grubby shop rag he has laying nearby. 

She looks up, her dark, almond eyes causing his heart to skip a beat. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Sure, anything,” he answers probably too quickly. 

“If… if you’re able. I don’t want you overdoing it, could you change my oil as well?” 

“Of course!” He exclaims and induces a coughing fit. Covering his mouth with his elbow, he hacks for a minute before clearing his throat. “Sorry, allergies.”

“Yeah they’ve been getting to me too,” she gives him a tender smile. “I can pay you. It’s just I haven’t had time and I can’t really afford the mechanic I normally take the car to.”

“No,” he waves his hand. “No payment, just…” he clutches the back of his neck. “What are friends for?” 

She chuckles at this. “Apparently, buying applesauce and changing oil.”

He beams, the sound of her laugh is as gorgeous as she is. “Sounds like a good friendship to me.”

Winta, clearly bored with their conversation, interjects, “Can I help you this time? Pretty please?”

Din shrugs. “I don’t see why not, if it’s okay with your mom, anyway. I heard you were supposed to help with dinner.”

“It would probably do you good to learn to change your own oil,” Omera gives her a quick hug. “Go put your bike away, baby.”

Winta darts off, but Omera lingers as Din leans back to check the oil drip. It is pretty close to being done and his train of thought is interrupted when Omera says, “Thank you.”

He glances up at her. Her brown eyes are warm and creased with the small smile that has risen on her lips. “For?” He croaks. She’s breathtaking, in every sense of the word. He has never before in his life met someone who can so easily catch him off guard. 

The smile on her full lips grows and Din catches himself smiling in return. 

“For being so kind all the time.”

He has nothing to say to this; he can’t say anything to this. There is suddenly a ball of emotion in his throat and, swallowing it down, he gives her a stiff nod and returns back to tinkering. 

~

Honestly, if Omera keeps it up, he’s going to have to go up a notch in his belt. For dinner, she made chicken noodle soup and mashed potatoes - all from scratch, even the noodles. 

He tries not to moan as he takes a bite, “This is delicious.”

“Thank you, it is my grandma’s recipe,” she explains. They are all seated around her kitchen table. Din has changed out of his grubby work clothes, and his hair is still damp from his quick shower. His son is seated in a high chair that Omera happened to have laying around. As she pulled it from a box in her garage, she said she knew she had kept it for a reason. Apparently, that reason was to have dinner with her neighbor and his toddler. 

“Well make sure you tell her I said thank you.” Din nods as he takes another bite. 

She smiles tenderly - something she does often, Din has noticed - and says to her bowl of soup, “She passed away a while ago, but I’m sure she’s still grateful for the kind words.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he apologizes. Trying to shake the awkward feeling churning in his stomach, he turns to Diego and cleans the mashed potato from his chin. 

“Don’t worry about it, I was younger when she passed… Feels like a lifetime ago,” she mutters and takes a bite. 

He knows exactly what she is talking about. It feels like both a lifetime ago and yesterday that his parents died and he was placed into the questionable protection that is considered modern day foster care. He bounced around for a while, was in and out of trouble when he finally settled with Armilda, who loved him like her own son and helped him get into the Marines where he served in special forces. 

She passed away suddenly from a heart attack when he joined the Bureau.

“Momma,” Winta begins, breaking the silence that had settled due to Din’s introspection. “Can I go over to Grandma Peli’s this weekend?” 

“I’ll give her a call and see if you can go over.”

The little girl grins and goes back to eating with a slight bounce in her movements. 

~

After dinner, they find themselves in the familiar routine of doing dishes while the children play in the backyard. Din washes this time and Omera dries. 

“Thank you again,” she begins as she places the glasses in the cupboard. “For changing the oil.”

“It was no problem… I was telling Winta, but I really just like fixing things. The guys at work call me a busy body,” he smirks a little bit at recounting the thought. 

“Oh I can’t see that at all,” she teases. 

He chuckles and goes back to washing the plates. 

“You talk about work a lot… any word on when you’ll be able to go back?”

He nods. “I’m hoping to start in the next couple weeks. I’ll be riding the desk still, but Cara is pretty insistent upon me testing to get back in the field.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great.”

He pauses. “I’m just a little hesitant, though… I had a really bad workplace accident and I don’t know if I want to be taking the same risks now that I have Diego.”

“What happened?” She asks. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she adds. 

He’s silent for a minute, like he is collecting his thoughts. She doesn’t rush him, whatever accident he experienced must have been pretty traumatic. 

“Cara and I were chasing after a perp. He detonated a bomb, I got caught in the blast.”

“Oh my God,” Omera gasps, her hand covering her mouth reflexively. “And you’re alright now?”

He nods. “Yeah, I just had my final surgery that should hopefully fix everything.”

“Well, congrats are in order, I suppose.”

He grimaces and she’s not sure why. “Yeah,” he answers, rinsing a plate and handing it to her. 

“So are you excited to go back then?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m excited to see my team again. As much as I love being home with Diego all day every day, it is nice to have a conversation with an adult.”

She chuckles. “I know that feeling all too well.”

“How about you? How has work been?”

She sighs, “I don’t know if you can handle the tales of a first grade teacher.”

He smirks, “Try me.”

So she tells him all about her catty co-workers. Barbara should probably retire, she still believes that beating children in school is a good way to teach them proper behavior. Omera has caught her on more than one occasion swatting children with rulers, yet the district won’t fire her because she happens to be the grandmother of some prominent person - Omera forgets who. She tells him about how her other co-worker, Seline, who probably means well, but is quite the office gossip. If there is a story that could be told, everyone _knows_ to go to Seline. Finally she talks about Laura, who is probably the closest thing Omera has to a work friend. They eat lunch together and occasionally exchange books, but most of the time Kelly is talking about her latest conquest. Omera is only mildly concerned for her health. 

Din listens patiently through all of it, nodding and chuckling at the appropriate parts. When the dishes are done, but the conversation is still flowing, Omera makes them tea and they go and sit on the steps of her pathetic back patio. She has furniture for it, but she has yet to unpack it. She has been more focused on getting the house in proper order and lesson planning before they go on spring break. 

She curls up over her knees and clutches the coffee cup closer to her chest, letting the tips of her fingers find warmth on the ceramic. March is still a little frigid, but the children are bundled and Winta seems to have taken quite nicely to Diego. 

“So,” she hears him ask. “Any big plans for the weekend?”

It’s Thursday night; tomorrow is guaranteed to be another frenzied finish to the week. She doesn’t care who says otherwise, but children can sense the end of the week. Then Winta will most likely spend the night with Peli on Saturday and on Sunday she meets David’s heart recipient. For some reason, she isn’t ready to talk about that. _I’m meeting the recipient of my dead husband’s heart. Yes, I know that’s not common practice, but he seems like a really sweet guy. How do I know? Well I've been writing him letters for a little over a month now. No, I don’t think he’s a crazed lunatic_. 

“No, not really,” she lies instead. “Hopefully Winta will be able to go over to her granny’s for a slumber party, but otherwise just a nice weekend of lesson planning and relaxing.”

Din nods and takes a sip of his tea. 

“What about yourself?” She asks. 

He shrugs. “I’m sure Cara will probably come over tomorrow for dinner… Maybe the guys will tag along. Who knows.”

“Seems very casual,” she offers. 

“We kind of have an open door policy. If someone shows up, you can’t turn them away. None of us have family close by. I mean Cara has Tiff, but it’s just them. If they go on vacation I go over and feed their fish, water their flowers. Stuff like that.”

Omera is silent for a moment and Din looks over at her with his eyebrows knitted together. “I think that is really sweet,” she clarifies.

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

~

He is beginning to think that it isn’t allergies. He wakes up and it is very difficult to breathe. He does his breathing exercises and notices that it’s significantly less air that he has been pushing. 

Probably not the best sign. 

When he picks his son up from his crib, he stumbles over to the rocking chair because the world just starts spinning. He chalks it up to the fact that he hasn’t eaten yet that morning and it’s probably his blood sugar. Not that he has ever had any blood sugar issues before. 

He packs his son in his stroller and they take a walk around the neighborhood, Din hoping that moving will make him feel better. He just ends up in a back-aching coughing fit that makes him cut things short so that he can return home. 

Laying on the couch, he turns on the tv and he and his son watch some cartoon that he doesn’t pay attention to. He picks up the phone and texts Cara. 

_Can’t do dinner tonight. Feeling under the weather._

_I told you it wasn’t fucking allergies. I’m coming to take you to the doctor._

_I just have a head cold, leave me alone._

_I swear to god. If you call me at 2 am to take you to the hospital, I’m letting you die._

_Noted_. 

He sets his phone aside and he and his son fall asleep on the couch together. 

~ 

Omera takes a deep breath as she helps Winta pack her bag to go over to Peli’s. She’s not panicking, no. It’s just... it’s the first time that Winta has left since David’s death. It’s going to be the first time that she is alone in her brand new house, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t anxious. 

The last time she let someone she loved out of her sight, he died. 

No, she isn’t going to think like that. 

“Momma?” Winta asks as she stuffs another coloring book into her suitcase. 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Are you sure it’s okay I go to Grandma Peli’s?” 

Omera smiles and takes up her daughter’s shoulders. “Of course, Grandma Peli misses you too, you should go visit her.”

“Well…” Winta looks down. “I just don’t want you to be scared in the new house all alone.”

Omera pulls her daughter into a hug and tries to blink back the tears in her eyes. “I’ll be okay, baby. It’s not that scary being alone.”

“No?” Winta pulls back to look at her mom. “I think it’s _really_ scary to be alone.”

“Well, when you’re old like me, you’ll appreciate the silence of being home alone.”

Winta wrinkles her nose. “I dunno momma.”

Omera kisses her daughter’s forehead. “Trust me, you will.”

~

He is not well. He stands over his kitchen sink, coughing violently. He hurts so bad, and he’s so cold, so, so cold. Stumbling into his bathroom, he fumbles for the thermometer from the medicine cabinet and quickly inserts into his mouth. He slides down onto the linoleum and rests his head against the under-sink cabinets. It hurts so bad to breathe, like someone is stabbing him in the back every time he takes a breath. 

This is not how he expected his weekend to go. 

The thermometer beeps and he reads the temperature through bleary eyes. 103.5 degrees.

Cara is going to kill him. 

He starts coughing again and he hears a distressed cry of his son in the living room. He can’t get up. He’s too tired, in too much pain. He can’t _fucking_ breathe. 

Pulling out his cell phone he calls the first number in his most recently contacted list. It rings twice and picks up. Before the person on the other end can answer, Din begins, “Cara, I’m so sorry. I’m… I’m not alright. Can you come over? I need to go to the hospital, but I don’t think I can drive myself there.”

“I’ll be right over.”

He doesn’t care that her voice sounded different on the phone, he simply tries to drag himself out of the bathroom and into the living room. He needs to let his son know that everything is going to be alright. 

~

Omera quickly throws a hoodie and jeans on and shoves her feet into the closest pair of matching shoes. Snatching her purse, her keys and her cellphone charger, she darts across the side lawn to Din’s home. She bounds up the stairs and knocks on the door. 

No answer. 

Her stomach churns as she tests the door knob. It’s unlocked and she helps herself in. “Din?” She calls hesitantly. “Din, are you alright?”

Diego is in his exersaucer, sniffling while trying to reach for something. Her eyes quickly find that the something is his father, leaning against the wall, whiter than a sheet of paper. “Oh my God,” she breathes and rushes to his side. “Din, Din can you hear me?”

He blinks up at her. “Omera? What’re you doing here?”

She feels his forehead. “You’re burning up,” she whispers. 

“What’re you doing here?” He repeats, trying to sit up straighter. 

“You called me,” she answered. “I think you meant to call Cara, but I’m here now and I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No,” he grumbles, catching her wrist. “No, just lemme call Cara.”

He looks like he can hardly breathe, he’s worryingly pale, and his forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat. No, she is going to take him to the doctor. “You don’t have an option. I’m taking you. Do you have an extra car seat?”

He shakes his head. “Keys to the truck are on the first ring,” he points up to the key hooks by the front door. 

“Stay,” she orders and snatches his keys. 

She moves quickly. She eyes the truck, but she never learned how to drive a manual. So she, as quickly as possible, loads up Diego’s carseat in the back of her Subaru and drives it over to park it in front of his house. 

Now this is the difficult part. She checks the front closet and sings the praises of this sickly single father. He has a go bag already packed for the little boy, Omera still does a once over just to check if everything is in there and she is pleased to see that it is. Shouldering the bag, she hoists Din to his feet. Despite his size, he isn’t as heavy as she thought he was going to be. 

She carries him out to the car and all but drops him in the front seat. Then she rushes back into the house and picks up Diego and buckles him into the carseat. Stroller. Diaper Bag. Stuffed frog. Check, check, check. 

She starts up the Subaru and pulls away, praying that nothing happens on their trip there. 

~

She pulls up into the horseshoe of the emergency room and yells at a random nurse who happened to be walking in at the same time. “I need help! Please! My friend, he can’t breathe!” She’s rushing out of the car, yanking open the door so that he can look at Din. He’s completely unconscious now, and her heart is racing. 

The nurse runs into the hospital and promptly returns with a gurney and two other staff members. “What’s his name?” The one staff member asks her. 

“Din… Uh Djarin. Din Djarin,” she says, uncertain if she is pronouncing it right. 

“Does he have any prior history with lung conditions? Any allergies?” 

She begins to well and truly panic now. “I don’t know. I don’t know. We’re not that close.” Wait. “Give me his phone, his… his partner might know.”

They sift through his pockets and hand her his phone and wallet. 

“Go ahead and park, we’ll get him in a room.”

She parks the car and sits there, gasping for air herself. With shaking hands, she opens Din’s phone and searches for Cara’s number. 

“Djarin, I swear to God,” she answers. 

“Hi… Cara?” Omera tries to keep her voice from shaking. 

“Who is this? Why do you have Din’s phone?”

“Yeah, um, my name is Omera. I’m Din’s neighbor. Uh, he called me because he wasn’t feeling well, but I’m pretty sure he meant to call you. Either way, I got him to the hospital, but they need to know a bunch of his medical history and… and I don’t know it.”

“God damnit. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Omera rests her head against the headrest and sucks in a deep breath. Everything is going to be okay. 

~

Everything is not going to be okay. Omera sits in the waiting room with Diego, fast asleep in his stroller. It’s around midnight and everyone is exhausted, including herself. She keeps pushing the stroller back and forth to keep him asleep, but even that isn’t quelching the anxiety rising in her throat. 

This is the same waiting room she was in when David died. When she stumbled out, delirious, this is where she sat - listening to that stupid water art hanging on the wall. It does nothing to calm her nerves now, either. 

Even after Cara showed up, looking well past pissed-off, Omera had only pointed her in the direction of Din’s room where she could answer all the hard questions. For a split second, Cara had looked torn as to whether or not to go with Din, or stay with Diego, but ultimately she went with Din. 

It’s been an hour and the woman still hasn’t emerged. 

Omera’s stomach grumbles and she opens her purse in hopes of finding a granola bar. 

Nothing. 

She sighs and goes back to rocking the toddler. 

“Omera?” A voice asks from behind her. Standing up, she whirls around and is relieved to find that it’s Cara. 

“Yeah?” She asks. 

“I don’t think I properly introduced myself. I’m Cara,” she offers her hand and Omera shakes it, even though her own hand is trembling.

“Omera,” she answers and finds this woman oddly familiar. Maybe it is simply her kind brown eyes. 

“Thank you so much for helping… He’s… my only friend.”

“He’s really great,” Omera whispers and the woman cracks a small smile. 

“They’re going to have to keep him over night. He’s awake right now. I had to rip him a new ass. He’s been telling me all week that it was just allergies, turns out he has fucking double pneumonia.”

Omera nods, but is mostly shocked into silence. 

“I’ll take Diego home with me. You can go see him if you want, though.”

“Oh, okay,” she pushes the stroller around so that Cara can take it. “Do you have a car seat?”

“Yeah. We’ll be alright. Thank you again. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, I did. He… he was pretty bad.”

“Yeah, typical Djarin though, always a dumbass.”

She smirks. 

Cara firmly smacks her shoulder, a little rougher than Omera would have liked, but says, “I hope I see you around more. You’d fit in well with us.”

Omera nods again, but watches silently as Cara and Diego head out. She’s not quite ready to go home. Despite the reassurances she gave her daughter, Omera really _doesn’t_ want to be home alone on a Saturday night. Instead, she wanders to the vending machines, gets a cup of watered down coffee, a bag of animal crackers and asks to see him. The nurse, as he escorts Omera back, makes a comment about how Din is lucky to have so many beautiful women visiting him in one night. 

Omera rolls her eyes. 

When she walks into the hospital room, she is not ready for what she sees. It’s like seeing David laid up all over again. Din lays in the bed, hooked up to a ventilator and several IVs flowing out of him. If his eyes had been open, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, but he looks too close to dead for her mind to think of anything else. 

As quietly as she can manage so as not to wake him, she sits down at the chair by his bed. He jolts awake anyway and glances over to her. He seems even more panicked and she can tell he wants to apologize, but she holds up her hand. 

“It’s okay. I’m okay. It’s okay.”

His eyes widen and Omera pulls out a pad of paper and a pen from her bag. She hands it to him and he scrawls out a note. 

_I’m sorry_. His handwriting is slanted, but still neat, print in all capitals. 

“I said it was okay. I mean it. Winta isn’t home and… and I don’t feel like being home alone anyway.”

_Why?_

She shrugs. “It’s a long story.”

He nods and then scrawls out something else. _Thank you. You should have just left me for Cara._

“I heard she gave you quite the talking to.”

He rolls his eyes and she smirks imagining him huffing in annoyance. 

“You know,” she begins. “You don’t always have to do things alone. I… I know you said you don’t have any family around, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ask people for help.”

He stares at her and then nods slowly. 

She pats his hand, careful not to hit the IV tape. 

He turns back to his pad and pen and holds up his note. _Can I ask a favor?_

“Of course,” she winces as she chokes down the watery coffee. 

_Stay?_

She smiles and takes his hand in hers. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: Din gets sick, obviously, and Omera takes him to the hospital. While he is laid up, they have a nice conversation via a notepad. She reassures him that everything will be okay and he asks her to stay with him. She does and she holds his hand. 
> 
> Quick question, are the texting convos clear to read? I haven't been including dialogue tags, but if they're too confusing without, let me know and I will start adding them! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Your continued support really motivates me to keep writing! <3


	8. Of Blanket Forts and Breakdowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole lot of nothing happens, guys. Idle threats are made, a mental break down happens, a birthday party is thrown.

_Devout_ didn’t show. 

Omera isn’t certain if she should be upset or not. They had planned to meet, and then just… didn’t. She thinks that maybe he had a good reason, but she can’t help the disappointment flaring in her gut. Briefly, she thinks about writing him, asking what the hell that was about, making plans and then bailing on her. But she doesn’t. 

There are, at the moment, more pressing issues at hand. 

“What do you mean I can’t go see him?” Winta all but cries. “He’s in the hospital! Hospitals are scary places!” 

“We can’t go see him because he is very sick and he needs his rest. You can see him when he comes home.” She’ll have to check that last bit, but she needs to stand by her statement. She could hardly stand seeing Din on the ventilator, she can’t imagine the lasting effects that would have on her daughter. 

“But mom!” Winta protests, stomping her foot a little. Omera makes a mental note to ask where she has picked up this bad behavior, but now is not the time or place. 

“You know what I’m sure Din would appreciate?” Omera redirects instead. 

“What?” Winta crosses her arms. 

“A get well card and a loaf of banana bread.”

Winta arches an eyebrow. “What if we watched movies with him and Diego? Do you think he would be okay with that?”

“We’ll have to check, but I don’t think there will be an issue with it.”

“Okay!” Winta darts off to get her colored pencils and paper. 

Omera sighs, and crashes to the couch, letting the stress fall from her shoulders. Who knew that after the loss of her husband, she would find herself here. She has easily come to consider this man her friend, and the thought of losing him to some silly bacterial infection has her heart aching in a way she doesn’t want to feel anymore. She’s tired of losing people she loves. She’s tired of feeling that anxious clench in her gut that comes with letting people go. 

Trying to push those negative thoughts aside, she gets up to help her daughter make a card too. 

~

“Dune,” he rasps. The doctors have taken him off the ventilator, and replaced the air supply with oxygen tubes up his nose. “I’m fine, quit fussing,” Din tries to swat his friend away as she arranges the pillows behind his back. 

“You’re fine? You’re _fine?_ ” she hisses and gets in his face, grabbing the front of his hospital gown. “I’m going to show you _fucking fine_ , Djarin, and you’re _not_ going to like it.”

Din sighs and Tiffany huffs from behind his assailant. “You know, I would intervene, but I’m kinda pissed at you too.” She bounces Diego in her arms. 

“It’s not like I knew it was pneumonia,” he grumbles. 

“Yeah, well, you could have _died_. You’re not some young kid with a healthy body! You’re a patchwork of donated organs and scar tissue!” Cara yells, throwing her hands up in exasperation. 

“Thanks for making me feel good about myself, Dune.”

She points a finger at him, “I’m going to make you run laps until you wish you were dead.”

“Too late,” he mutters and she whacks him so hard on the shoulder that he sees stars. 

~

He’s dismissed from the hospital after two days and returns home Tuesday afternoon. He sits down on the couch, happily with his son and then it hits him. 

He missed his meeting with _Optimistic_. 

His heart plummets quickly into his stomach and he feels nauseous. Not only did he rob this poor widow of her husband’s heart, but he also bailed on meeting her, or at least that’s how it will look like to her. 

_Fuck_. 

His phone vibrates and he looks down to see that it’s Omera. 

_Hey neighbor! How’re you feeling?_

He checks the time, it is three-thirty. School has probably just been dismissed and she is checking up on him. He pushes aside the warm, gooey feeling he gets at that thought. This is his _neighbor_ , after all. 

_Good. Back home finally. I hate hospitals._

Her response is almost immediate. _Me too. I have a question for you._

_Sure_

_Winta has been harassing me about coming to see you. Are you up for company?_

_I would love company_

_Great. Bring you dinner?_

_You don’t have to_

She sends an eye rolling emoji. Followed up by a text. _Let me rephrase that. I’m bringing you dinner. Do you like Chinese?_

_I think you should know that I welcome all food_

_Good be there at 5:00_

Din stares at the text and smirks. What is it and all the assertive women in his life? First, Cara with her threats, then Tiff with her maternal protectiveness, and then Omera… 

He doesn’t know how to describe her, but he knows that her friendship is steadfast and he realizes he's okay with that. 

~

The doorbell rings and Din is quickly up to answer it. He’s feeling lethargic, but honestly after his heart surgery, everything feels like a walk through the park. Not even a walk, a leisurely stroll. He pulls open the door and is promptly stampeded by Winta. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” She throws her arms around his waist. 

“I’m fine,” he answers and looks up at Omera with pure horror in his eyes. Gently, he rests his hands on her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” Omera mouths. 

Winta grabs his hand and hauls him back inside while she speaks very firmly. “ _I_ wanted to come see you while you were in the hospital, but momma said we couldn’t,” the eight-year old glares at her mother. “ _Anyway_ , I brought you a card, and a movie, _and_ Mr. Snuggles.” She thrusts all of the aforementioned items into his lap. He accepts them all, but his horror transforms into panic as he looks for a cue from Omera as to what he’s supposed to be doing right now. She just shrugs and starts unloading the take out onto the coffee table. 

“Momma and I made the card, the movie is my favorite one, and Mr. Snuggles is for when you go to the hospital again.”

“When?” He asks. 

“I dunno,” she shrugs. “But you seem to go there _a lot_. Mr. Snuggles makes scary things not so scary.”

Din eyes the threadbare teddy bear. “I really can’t accept this, Winta.”

The girl looks up at him like she might burst to tears and he finds himself backpedaling. 

“I mean,” he begins, “I am extremely appreciative, but I think Mr. Snuggles would miss you if he came to live with me.”

She smiles and bounces, “That’s okay, I’ll come visit him.”

He sputters; he’s been outwitted.

“Are you sure Mr. Snuggles wants to live here?” Omera gently prods. 

Winta thinks about it. “Well… I’m pretty sure. He at least wants to stay here until you feel better,” she slowly takes back Mr. Snuggles from Din’s lap and squeezes him under her chin. 

“I’m already feeling better,” Din smiles. 

“Really?”

He nods.

“Then I guess he doesn’t _have_ to stay here.”

Omera and Din share a laugh. “Is it okay if we eat out here or would you prefer in the kitchen?”

He shrugs. “As long as we’re not too messy, I suppose we can have a picnic.”

Omera smiles, leaving Din breathless for reasons that have nothing to do with his fading pneumonia. 

~

This is nice. Everyone is piled on the couch. Din is leaning back, feet propped up on the coffee table, with Diego asleep on his chest. Omera watches out of the corner of her eye as he gently strokes up and down the boy’s back. Winta sits between them, criss cross applesauce, Mr. Snuggles situated in her lap so that he can watch TV too. They’re watching Tangled, _again_. Omera has seen this movie so many times, she can almost quote the entire thing, but Din hasn’t seen it and he looks equal parts entertained and confused. 

This is nice. Omera can’t help but think that. She reflects on all the movie nights she and Winta had together throughout her childhood. David never really did the whole “movie night” thing. He worked far too many hours, and while he was a _great_ father, they never had moments like these. The house is silent except for the relaxing drizzle of a spring shower outside and the singing of Rapunzel and all the rapscallions. 

Eventually the movie ends, Winta is asleep on her lap and Din looks like he’s barely staying awake as well. Omera murmurs, “I guess I should get this one home.”

He hums vaguely in the affirmative and then says, “I’m going to put him down and I’ll be back to help you guys pack up.”

Omera nods and eases up from her seated position. Winta grumbles in protest, but she lets her lay there for a few more minutes while she packs up the take out containers. 

“Here let me,” Din offers and their hands brush. Omera pulls back and tries to cover by giving him a tender smile. 

“Thank you.”

“No. Thank you. For bringing me dinner. For taking me to the hospital. I really owe you.”

She scoffs. “You changed the oil in my car and graciously put up with my daughter’s shenanigans. I think we can call it even.”

He chuckles. 

“Are you feeling better, though?”

He nods. “Just tired. They said I would be susceptible to bacterial pneumonia after my surgery, but I guess I was just being cocky. Didn’t think I could get sick because I’d been doing so well with physical therapy.”

“Well don’t be so cocky anymore. You really scared me. I finally made a friend, and I thought you were going to die on me.”

He laughs. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

She thinks he means it as a joke, but she looks up and meets his warm brown eyes. He has nice eyes, the kindness in them is as plain as day. “Good,” she answers simply and they widen. 

He looks back down and stammers, “I- I actually have something for you.”

“Oh?”

He pulls out a house key and hands it to her. “So you know, you can come over and take care of the house if something happens to me again.”

“But doesn’t Cara have a key?” She asks, holding the small gold symbol of trust between her index finger and thumb. 

“Yeah, but she lives all the way across town. You proved yourself worthy of a house key,” he winks and she blushes. 

“I will cherish this until the end of my days,” she jokes and he smiles. He has a nice smile too. His eyes crinkle when he smiles and she finds it beautiful. Shaking away those thoughts, she whispers, “I guess I should get her home.”

“Yeah, it’s a school night,” he walks over to the door and unlocks it. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she heaves Winta up. She is no longer a small girl, but Omera will carry her until her back snaps. In the back recesses of her mind, Omera fears the day that she never gets to pick up and hold her baby again. Carrying her to the door,Omera gives her neighbor, her friend, a nod before leaving. 

The walk across the yard is only slightly strenuous and unlocking her front door takes a small feat of acrobatics, but she eventually gets the door open and tucks her daughter in for bed. 

Standing in front of the mirror in her bathroom, Omera begins taking off her minimal makeup before bed when her phone chirps. She opens it without looking, thinking it's probably an email notification from a parent, when she sees that it is a text message from Din. 

_Thanks again for dinner, I really appreciate it_

_No problem! It was definitely nice to hang out and relax for a change. I’m afraid we may still owe Winta a blanket fort_

_I’m free Friday night?_

_I’ll check with Winta, but I think we already know what the answer is_

_I’ll get the ice cream and popcorn ready_

_Lol we’re going to be pulling her off the ceiling_

_Not if I send her home with you before the sugar rush kicks in_

_Oh, I treat you to dinner and you’re going to send me home with a hyped up kid? I see how it is lol_

_I’m sorry, but even FBI agents have limitations to what we can handle_

_Wow and here I thought we were friends :P_

_You’re the only friend I have outside of work, to be honest_

_Same, if we’re being honest._ She hesitates and then adds. _Tonight has been the most fun I’ve had in a while_

_^^ I second that. It’s nice doing kid friendly things for a change. I’m sure you can imagine, but my friends aren’t exactly that kind of group_

_I just don’t have friends_ (crying laughing emoji)

_Well you have me_

_That I do._ She smiles. _Good night, Din_

_Night_

When she looks back up in the mirror, she sees a woman she hasn’t seen in months. Omera is smiling, ear to ear, her cheeks flushed with a faint blush. She looks the happiest she’s been in a long time, and it’s all because of a loaf of banana bread, and a kind-hearted neighbor. 

~

Diego got accepted into the daycare program Din had applied him for. As much as he detests the idea, he has to go back to work, which means he has to send Diego _somewhere_ . He thought about sending him back to Peli, but the problem is that the little guy is getting older and he still isn’t saying _any_ words. Din has read hundreds of childcare books and several of them stated that socialization in their own age group can be helpful. 

So he sent in an application to a nice pre-school/childcare that is highly rated in the area. After the acceptance email, Din scheduled a meeting and now here he sits, in the cabin of his truck, panicking. 

He likes to think that he is probably a pretty chill dad, but in moments like this, he is painfully aware that he is _not_ chill. There are so many possibilities that could go terribly wrong. Diego could be bullied, for starters. The kid can’t speak, how is he going to be able to defend himself against other, more predatory kids? Then there is the possibility that the teacher isn’t patient _or_ kind. He listened to how Omera talked about that one lady who still hits kids with rulers. He shudders at the thought. 

Deep, in the back of his mind, a small part wished that Omera taught preschool instead of first grade, he could trust Diego with her for sure. 

With a heavy sigh, he gets out of the car and loads his son up into his stroller. 

Entering into the school, Din relaxes a little. This is nothing how elementary school had looked like for him. He remembers getting his ass handed to him on several occasions in his early years. This looks… far less threatening. 

Walking into the classroom Din is met by a very, very small man. “You must be Mr. Djarin,” the teacher smiles. He barely comes up to Din’s armpit and is balding, but has a fluffy, white goatee. “And this must be Diego.”

“Yessir,” Din answers with a nod. 

“I’m Kuiil, or as the children call me, Mr. Kuiil.”

“Nice to meet you,” Din shakes the man’s hand. 

~

“So you’re telling me that you would rather send that precious bean to a _daycare_ than to me and my capable hands?” Peli asks incredulously over the phone. Din has to hold the speaker away from his ear as her tone rises. 

“Peli, it’s nothing personal. I’ll still need someone to pick him up once I go back to work full time.”

She huffs over the phone. “I can’t believe this. Unacceptable. I’m a perfectly fine caretaker.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know you are. When I go back to work full time, I’ll give you a call. Yeah?”

“Alright, but I still want to see him. I love that little man.”

“I know you do.”

“Take care.”

“You too.”

Din turns and looks to his son who is happily slobbering on cheerios in his high chair. “You know, you cause me all sorts of grief, right?”

The kid babbles and jams more slobbery cereal in his mouth. 

“I don’t even want to think about the trouble you will cause me when you’re a teenager....” He trails off and pours more coffee in his cup. “Oh my god, I’m going to be sixty trying to keep up with you.” With a sigh, he sinks down next to his boy. “You know you’re so very loved? You know that right?”

The kid gurgles and smears more cereal on his cheeks. Din smiles warmly and cleans his son’s face. 

~

Friday comes much faster than expected, and she’s honestly pleased. A Friday night building a blanket fort is exactly what she needs after a week like she’s had. It began with Isaac puking on her shoes (her _favorite_ shoes) and ended with two of her coworkers yelling at each other in the teacher’s lounge. 

Honestly, sometimes she wondered if her coworkers were no better than the children they taught. 

Winta, with great excitement, packs up all of their blankets. Not a single blanket is safe. Omera is lucky that the towels were left behind. Then they are knocking on their neighbor’s door once again. 

He’s all smiles and Omera’s heart warms at the sight. He must be feeling loads better, wearing sweats and a hoodie, he looks to be a vision of comfort. She’s wearing leggings and her favorite, long sleeved shirt and Winta is sporting her favorite pajama set. 

They are ready for a fort, pizza, and Disney movies. 

And the popcorn and ice cream, but dinner must come first.

They place an order for the pizza. One cheese and another with everything on it. While they wait for the delivery, they begin construction on their blanket fort. They drag in all the chairs from the kitchen and begin draping blankets over every piece of furniture and constructing a truly magnificent structure. Winta serves as the foreman, directing the adults as to what needs to go where and the two are only too happy to oblige. Omera lets the warmth of happiness seep into her soul and she desperately tries to take snapshots of these memories to cherish forever. 

Winta is smiling from ear to ear, holding the baby, who is cackling with joy, in her arms. Omera looks at Din who is watching her with a dopey smile that makes her smile in return. His joy is contagious that way. She has never seen him upset, but she has seen him when he thinks no one is watching. His brows have a natural furrow to him that would probably be intimidating to anyone else, but not her. No. She knows this man is a big softy. Ever since the beginning with the banana bread, she knew. 

By the time the fort is fully operational, the pizza arrives and Din finds himself leaping across the chairs to get to the door. Omera settles into the fort with the children and Din follows shortly behind, carrying the two boxes. 

“Okay. Ready for the movie?” He asks as he dishes out paper plates and napkins. 

“Yessir!” Winta chirps with a dramatic salute. 

Omera can only grin as he rolls his eyes and presses play. 

~

The children zonk by the middle of the second movie. Diego is drooling all over Din’s chest and Winta is fast asleep in Omera’s lap. She gently pushes aside her daughter’s hair, admiring how at peace her baby looks when she’s dreaming of far off places. Omera certainly can’t blame her, they’ve had a rough couple months. The lands of deep sleep are probably the most peaceful she’s been in a while. Omera, on the other hand, can’t say the same. When she does sleep, it’s fitful, but she’s getting better. Every night, she gets more used to the empty cavern on the other side of the bed. Every day, she gets more acquainted with making her own coffee (her and the coffee maker used to be mortal enemies, now she can say that they are like business associates at least), she gets more acquainted with the silence of her home late at night. She can hear the hig way from her new home and that helps fill the void, but isn’t always fool proof. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Din murmurs across from her. She notices now that he’s been staring at her, taking her in with those soft, brown eyes. 

She shrugs. “Just thinking about how hard this year has been and it’s barely April.”

He nods. “I know that feeling.”

Silence falls between them, but it isn’t oppressive. It’s calming, lapping at them like the ocean rolling in. “My husband died,” she blurts. 

His head snaps to her and his eyebrows are furrowed with concern. 

“I’m sorry, I just,” she sucks in a deep breath.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m… incredibly sorry for your loss. When… When did he pass?”

“Two months ago. Almost to the day.”

“Omera… I…”

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I feel bad for asking.”

“Don’t. It… feels good to talk about it.”

He’s silent for a few moments and he asks her, very softly, “Would you want to talk about him?”

“My husband?”

He nods. 

“I… I haven’t talked about… him since he passed.”

“Sometimes,” he sets Diego down and swaddles him in blankets. “Sometimes talking about people we have lost helps us remember.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

He nods once, slowly. “I wasn’t always such a loner. My birth parents were murdered. Then I lost most of my buddies from the Marines. Then, my adoptive mother passed away right before I joined the Bureau. Cara and the crew are… too stubborn to be pushed away.” He pauses. “Apparently, so are you,” he finishes with a light chuckle. 

“I lost my parents too… They died of drug overdoses. My grandparents adopted me, and they passed away right after I got married.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he repeats. 

“Sounds like we both have had pretty tragic lives.”

He shrugs. “I can’t think of a single person who hasn’t.”

Omera lets that hang in the air for a moment before rasping, “His name was David.”

Din’s expression, if possible, softens more. 

“We met in college. He was a little older than me. I had just finished my first year, he had just started his residency. We were both at a party, but neither of us were drinking. I guess we were both DDs or something.” She smirks and Din gently places a hand on hers. “We ended up becoming fast friends. We went rock climbing, studied together, formed a close knit group of kids that we adventured with. I say kids, we were all adults, but when you’re that young…”

“Still kids,” Din offers and she nods. 

“Yeah, then when he became a surgeon, I followed him here to Washington DC. Neither of us had any family, I could find a job anywhere. I mean, I’m _just_ a teacher. David… was a surgeon, a magician. He saved countless lives, traveled all over the world performing surgeries in underprivileged areas. He lived for his work.” She can feel the tears brimming in her eyes, but talking, it feels cathartic. She can feel the healing be smeared across her soul like a salve over a burn. “He… he used to match my socks because I just never had the patience for that. I still don’t. And… and… when he would read to Winta, he would do all the voices. He couldn’t cook to save his life. We survived off of ramen and toast until I finally got a teaching position and had a steady schedule to learn how to cook. I,” she laughs. “I remember this one time he tried to surprise me by making a meatloaf. Din, he unpackaged the ground beef and put it in a baking pan and _baked it_. He didn’t even season it,” she wipes tears from her eyes. 

Din laughs with her and adds, “I’m not the best and even I know that.”

She takes a deep breath and continues. “I loved David so much. I still do. Sometimes the house is too empty or too quiet and I find myself thinking of him. Especially in the morning. When he worked first shift, he would always put a pot of coffee on for me before he left for work. He was always thinking about other people. Now that he’s gone… I try my hardest to remember him.”

Din simply nods and lets her continue. 

“But… I can’t even remember. I can’t remember if I told him I loved him before he died,” her tears spill over. “And I can’t bear the thought of him not knowing.” She hiccups and, to her surprise, Din pulls her into a hug. 

“He knew. He knows,” is all he says and she lets the water works flow freely into his hoodie. She sniffles and sobs and he holds her. His embrace feels safe, warm. Almost like home. 

~

Din is fairly certain that Omera is avoiding him, but he’s not certain what to make of it. She had a breakdown on his living room floor, but he doesn’t judge her for it. If anything, he admires her for being so open, for trusting him so much with such personal feelings. He feels like he talks about himself a lot, but he’s never been exactly socially prepared either. He wasn’t lying when he told her that he wasn’t always a loner, but he has been a loner for quite some time now. Plus, the only social interaction he got was with a bunch of other social awkward loners. Cara practically bullied him into friendship and most of their conversations consist of curse words and digress into fist fights. 

Either way, today he needs to focus and focus, he does not have. 

He marches into his office only to be greeted with confetti and a foghorn. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY SLASH WELCOME BACK SURPRISE!” Cara bellows and lays on the foghorn again. 

Oh yes, it is April second. His first day back in the office as well as his birthday. How convenient. Trying to conceal the grimace he _knows_ is on his face, he looks to his desk. As to be expected, it is covered in streamers and has a birthday cake neatly placed on it. On said cake, is exactly what Cara had yelled at him upon entry. 

_Happy Birthday!/Welcome Back!_

He doesn’t suppress his groan. “Cara, what is this?”

“We wanted your first day back to be extra special,” she slapped him on the shoulder blade. 

“I seriously only came in to fill out some paperwork and get my badge.”

“Well, now you can partake in the celebration of your birth and reunion with your only friends. Come on.”

Din lets out a heavy sigh of exasperation; he _hates_ being the center of attention, but he lets her drag him deeper into the office, nonetheless. 

~

Omera wipes her hands down her face and slaps her cheeks. She’s so upset with herself. Friday night, she managed to have a full mental breakdown. An _entire_ meltdown in front of her very nice neighbor. 

He must think she is a freak. 

She’s managed to avoid him for most of the weekend, but now every time she has a free moment of thought, her mind immediately goes to how he held her as she cried. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. He never faltered and he certainly didn’t run away. If anything, he remained solid and steadfast by her side. 

It was almost nice. 

Now she’s just worried he thinks she’s a nutcase. 

Her cell phone rings and she picks it up even though it's an unidentified number. “Hello?” She answers harshly, fully expecting it to be a spam call about an expired credit card she doesn’t own. 

“Hey, is this Omera?” 

“Yes?” She asks while aggressively stirring her salad. 

“Hey! This is Cara, Din’s friend.”

“How? How did you get my number?” Omera asks again, dropping her fork. 

“I work for the FBI.” Omera can practically hear the eye roll. 

“Well… What can I do for you, agent?” 

“I’m having a cookout tonight. Well, we are having a cookout tonight at Din’s place. Want to drop by? I know you live next door.”

“I don’t know,” she says sheepishly. 

“It’s his birthday.”

“It’s his birthday!?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t exactly advertise it. Anyway, I was kind of a jackass today and threw him a surprise party at work. I told him I’d make it up to him by having a quiet night in. I’m sure he’d appreciate it if you made an appearance.”

Omera swallows. “I guess because it’s his birthday…” 

“You’re the best. Oh and don’t worry about bringing anything. I got this under control.”

The line goes dead and Omera, for a brief moment, wonders exactly _how_ under control Cara has this situation. 

~

Winta is beyond over the moon. She and Omera quickly run to the corner store to get Din a birthday card and a gift card to a restaurant Omera is not certain if he likes, but it’s her favorite. Everyone loves pasta, right? He _did_ say that he doesn’t turn away food. So she goes for it. 

She stops by the house to change into jeans, sandals, and a nice blouse while Winta fusses over whether to wear her fluorescent pink sneakers or her favorite purple sneakers. She decides on one of each, the left being pink, her right being purple. Omera protests, but figures it’s just Din and would he really care? Definitely not. 

They walk across the side lawn to Din’s backyard, only to find the party in full swing. There are two guys gathered around the table, Cara is manning the grill, and Din is in deep conversation with a blonde bombshell. 

Maybe she should have dressed nicer. 

What was she saying? This is her _neighbor_ not a booty call. 

“Omera!” Cara shouts upon seeing her and her daughter. 

Din instantly looks up catching her eyes and a bashful smile spreads across his face. 

“So glad you could make it!” Cara continues. “That sexy blonde right there is my wife,” Cara points her tongs towards the blonde. “These two fools are Karga and Iggy.”

“And who are you, my lady?” Karga takes Omera’s hand, bows, and kisses her knuckles. 

Blushing, she answers, “I’m Omera, the neighbor. And this is my daughter, Winta.”

“Hey, kid. Nice shoes,” Cara compliments with a nod. 

“Thanks,” Winta says and tucks behind her mom’s leg. 

Omera politely removes her hand from Karga’s and puts her hand on Winta’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go give your card to Din?”

“Okay!” Winta scurries off with Omera right behind her. 

“Momma and I got you a card! Happy Birthday!” She smiles and gives him a hug. 

He returns her hug and accepts the card. “Should… Should I open it now?” He looks around. 

“Go ahead, Cara says her gift to you is going to be helping you pass PT, but I don’t know if that is a gift or more of a punishment,” The blonde says with a smile. “I’m Tiffany by the way,” she offers her hand to Omera. 

“Nice to meet you.”

“Open it!” Winta bounces. 

He gently tears open the envelope and reads the card with a genuine smile. The card was something dorky, it had an owl on it and made a joke about becoming older and wiser. 

“I’ve never heard of this restaurant,” he states, holding the gift card. 

“Oh, it’s one of my favorites,” Omera answers. 

He looks down at the gift card and then back up to her, “Maybe… we could go together some time? I mean, only if you want to. Obviously.” He scrunches his eyebrows and she can him cringing and mentally cursing himself. 

“I’d like that.”

~

That night, after all the guests have cleared out, Omera stays. She helps him tidy up her kitchen and the kids are quietly playing in the living room. 

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

Din looks over at her, towel stilling on the plate he is drying. “For?”

“For freaking out Friday night. I… I didn’t mean to unload on you. It was unfair… You probably think I’m crazy now.”

He shakes his head. “Not in the slightest.”

“What?” Her hands still in the water. 

“It takes a lot of bravery to have that conversation. I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re brave. And…” he goes back to drying, keeping his eyes away from her. “I think you’re a good friend. I’m sorry if I overstepped at all. I never meant to pry.”

She puts her hand on his shoulder and he looks back to her. “No. Not at all. It’s… nice. To be able to talk to you. It’s been a while since I’ve had someone I could confide in.”

He nods, but doesn’t shift under her hand. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so author's anecdote, my dad actually did the meatloaf story. That is a true tale from my life about my dad's horrible cooking skills xD 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed it! <3 <3


	9. Stranger Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din subjects himself to his worst fears; Omera doesn't go on a date, absolutely not.

Din peers down the range and fires a group bundled together neatly in the center. He unloads and reloads his clip and fires another group neatly clustered in the head. Sucking in a breath, he removes his protective earmuffs and presses the button to bring the target back down range.

“You know, you don’t have to show off. We know you’re a good shot,” Cara huffs from beside him. 

“I’m a little rusty,” he mutters with a grimace, looking down at the one stray bullet hole of the otherwise perfect cluster. 

“Okay, seriously no one is going to top that.”

“I haven’t won best marksman every year for shoddy work like this,” he tosses the target in the trash bin and they make their way outside to the track. 

“Yeah well it’s definitely good enough for your retest.”

They’ve been doing this for a little over a month now. After his first day back in the office in April, Cara had mandated that they would train every day. The hardest part thus far has been the mile and a half run. He can sprint; he’s always been a pretty good sprinter, but with the heart transplant, he’s been having a hard time maintaining an acceptable run time. He is barely faster than thirteen minutes, which is  _ just  _ passing. 

They arrive at the track and toss their stuff down. “Sit ups?” He asks. 

“Always first. Ready?” He lays flat on his back and she puts her knees on his feet as she prepares the timer. “Aaaand. Go.”

He starts scrunching up, touching his elbows to his thighs, keeping a steady pace. Stopping forfeits the minute, and he is not about to let that happen. 

“Time.”

“How many?” he breathes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It’s nice to not be weezing; sometimes he’s still shocked by his body’s newfound ability to  _ breathe _ . 

“Fifty-Nine. Nice job, Djarin.”

He plops back. “Thank God.”

“Okay, time for the sprint.”

She offers him a hand and he heaves himself up. “At least I know I got this in the bag.”

“Honestly, I don’t understand why you’re so fast. Like were you struck by lightning as a child?”

He shrugs. “I grew up running from the cops, you know that.”

“Ah yes, the teenage angst years where Din Djarin was a delinquent.”

He chuckles. “At least I can out run and climb a fence faster than you.”

“Yeah, but if we get in a fist fight, you know my punches will knock your lights out.”

“I’ll hold ‘em, you punch.”

She stops and stares at him. “Did you just quote Mulan at me?”

“How would you know if I did?” He arches an eyebrow at her. 

“Mulan happens to be my  _ favorite _ Disney movie. Also, I’m never letting you live that down. Daddy Din can now quote Disney movies.”

“Come on. I watched it just last night. Winta picked it.”

“Your neighbor’s daughter?”

“Yeah, I went over for dinner last night.”

“You guys have dinner a lot.”

“Djarin! Dune!” Karga comes jogging out onto the track. “Vizsla needs you in the briefing room, stat.”

“What? Why?”

“Some kids got abducted. Thinks it may be part of that Empire gang.”

“I thought they fell apart years ago,” Cara counters. 

“They left a calling card.”

“The symbol?” Din asks. 

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” Cara and Din take off running back to the office. Din checks the time on his watch. One o’clock, he should be done in time to pick up Diego. It’s not like he can  _ actually _ do anything for the case right now anyway. He is stuck pencil pushing until he retests next week. 

~

Omera is sitting at her desk grading papers and Winta is sitting in one of the beanbags reading a Magic Treehouse book, when the classroom phone rings. Omera swivels in her desk chair and picks up the receiver. “Mrs. Avidan’s room.” She hasn’t changed her name, she doesn’t want to confuse her students. 

“Hey, Omera, it’s Kuiil. Can I ask a favor of you?”

“I guess… what’s going on?”

“My dog, Blerga, she’s really sick and I was hoping to take her to the vet today. Well, my last student hasn’t been picked up and I was hoping you could stay with him until his dad comes to pick him. The vet closes at five and I want to have enough time to get there.”

Omera looks at the clock, it’s nearly four. “Have you tried calling him?”

“Yeah, it went straight to voicemail. I’m not certain who else to call.”

“I’m sorry, yeah I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Thank you, I owe you.”

She hangs up and looks to Winta. “We’re migrating,” Omera announces. “We’re going over to Mr. Kuiil’s room.”

“Awesome! I loooove Mr. Kuiil!” She exclaims, jumping up and grabbing her things. 

“Well, he can’t stay and visit, but we’re hanging out with a straggler.”

She groans. “Who forgets to pick up their kids?”

“Winta, you never know what could have happened.”

This comment doesn’t stop her daughter from rolling her eyes. 

Omera locks up her classroom and heads down into the childcare wing. She, too, mildly detests looking after stragglers. It’s not that she hates staying late with kids, she loves that. However, how hard is it to remember to pick up your kids? They get released at the same time every day. Telling herself the same thing she told Winta, she squashes down those sentiments and walks into Kuil’s room. 

“Omera! Thank you! This is Diego, his father’s name is Din. He’s normally here right on time -” His office phone rings, cutting him off. “Hold on a second.” He picks up the phone. “Kuiil’s room… Oh no worries. I will have to leave him with a coworker, I have a family emergency to tend to… Yes I guarantee she is a very nice lady… Yes. Yes of course. Have a good evening Mr. Djarin.”

Winta tugs at her mom’s dress and looks at Diego who is happily on the floor playing with blocks. “Go play,” Omera instructs and her daughter darts away. 

“I’m sorry about that, I could probably stay now.”

“No, go and take care of Blerga,” Omera pats his arm. “I can stay with this little man.”

“Thanks again, Omera.”

She gives him a tender smile and joins her daughter on the floor with Diego. “What happened to your daddy, huh?” She coos and pokes him in the nose. 

“Momma, what if something bad actually happened? What if he is in the hospital again?” Winta goes to bite her finger nails and Omera deftly prevents the motion. 

“He’s on his way, don’t worry.”

As if on cue, Din bursts into the room looking both windswept and winded. He is wearing a hoodie and shorts both emblazoned the FBI logo and running shoes. His dark brown hair is wildly askew and, as he charges in, he pushes his sunglasses on top of his head, only to cause his dark brown locks to stick straight up. “Omera?” He asks, shocked. 

“Hey,” she smiles. “I’m… uh I’m the coworker Kuiil mentioned.”

“Oh.” He looks at her then to Diego and then back to her. “How long have you worked here?”

“Oh just about five years now.”

“And I’ve never run into you while picking up Diego?”

She smiles. “Apparently not.”

He clutches the back of his neck and smiles. “Well, clearly I pay very good attention to my surroundings.”

“You know, I can just take him home with me when you’re running late.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, I’m volunteering.”

He smiles as an answer and Winta chirps. “So what’s for dinner tonight?”

Omera opens her mouth to answer and Din says, “I have stuff to make spaghetti?”

“Yes! I love your spaghetti.”

“I guess it’s settled,” Omera smiles. 

“I’ll see you at the house?” Din says, bending to pick up his son. 

“See you there,” Omera watches him as he goes.

~

Omera checks her email while Din finishes up frying the beef and adding the sauce to his marinara. 

“Dammit,” she mutters under her breath. 

“Everything okay?” He asks. 

“No. I mean, yeah, I guess it will be fine. I just have to change all of my lesson plans around.”

“What happened?”

“Before school lets out, I wanted to do a presentation on stranger danger. I had arranged for a local cop to come in and talk about it… but he’s been… held up I guess.”

“Held up?”

“His excuse is paper thin at best. I just don’t think he wants to come talk to a room full of first graders,” she sighs and wipes her hands down her face. “It’s fine, everything is fine.”

He moves in front of her and ducks to catch her eyes. “I can do it.”

“What?” She asks, dropping her hands. 

“I’m not a cop, but, uh, I can do it. I give briefings all the time for work… can’t be much different right?”

“I think you are vastly underestimating a room full of first graders after lunch.”

“I think you are vastly  _ overestimating  _ a room full of FBI agents with little sleep and several cups of coffee.” 

Omera laughs and he grins. 

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to.”

“Who better to talk about stranger danger than someone who is constantly rescuing kids who have been abducted?”

She nods. “Fair point.”

~

_ I think you’re going to have to surrender the recipe for your spaghetti. Winta won’t stop talking about it. _

_ It’s because I have a secret ingredient.  _

_ Oh? _

_ Yep.  _

_ Care to share? _

_ Mmm _ (thinking emoji) 

_ Must I stoop to bribery? _

_ Bribery? That’s a big deal, I am an FBI agent, you know.  _

_ Only part time. You still have a PT test to pass.  _

_ Don’t remind me _

_ How is that going, by the way? _

_ Everything is looking good except the run. I can barely do it in thirteen minutes. My sprint time is looking good though.  _

_ Yeah?  _

_ Three hundred meters in thirty eight seconds was my last time.  _

_ Wow! That’s amazing.  _

_ Eh, just spent a lot of my life running from/after people.  _

_ Were you a delinquent? _

_ You know a lot of ppl use that term and I just don’t identify with that _

(Crying laughing emoji)  _ When is your PT test? _

_ Monday _

_ So you still have five days. You’ll do great _

_ Pray for me anyway  _

_ I always pray for you. Your job is too dangerous, you know that? _

_ Trust me, the only thing I am in danger of at work right now is getting a paper cut _

_ You know what I’m talking about… Any hopes that they will find those kids? _

_ We have a solid lead, I think everything will work out. Karga and Iggy are taking point on them.  _

_ I’m glad. They’re good guys _

_ Worcestershire _

_ What? _

_ The secret ingredient. Just a splash. Adds a little extra flavor to the beef before you add the sauce  _

_ If a loaf of banana bread appears at your doorstep, it is definitely not a payment of bribery _

_ I do love banana bread _

_ I know you do _

~

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. His hands are sweaty and he adjusts his tie as he sits on the hard, wooden bench outside the principal’s office. It’s been a lifetime since he was in the principal’s office, but all those memories are washing back and he  _ still _ has anxiety about this . 

“Mr. Djarin.”

Din rises and meets the elderly woman, the principal. “Yes ma’am.”

“It is so nice of you to volunteer for this. Mrs. Avidan spoke very highly of you.”

Mrs. Avidan? Oh right. 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Here is your visitor’s pass and her room is just down the hall and to your left.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He’s early. Almost an hour early, but he assumed her lunch would be the same time as her students and his scheduled time was after lunch so… He swallows and grips his lunch box a little tighter as he wanders down the hall to her room. 

“Knock, knock,” he says at her door. 

She is glaring at her computer screen and jumps at the sound of his voice. “Oh hi! Din! You’re early.”

“I brought provisions. And a caffeine refuel,” he holds a thermos of coffee out for her and sets his lunchbox on the table. 

“You… are amazing. I forgot to pack my lunch today. Out of all the days to wake up late. Anyway, I was just going to keep eating jolly ranchers in hopes of surviving until three.”

“Jolly ranchers?”

“The currency of my classroom,” she laughs. 

He chuckles as well and hands her a bag of grapes, a ham sandwich and - he knows these are her favorite even if she won’t admit it aloud - a little debbie brownie. Her eyes light up upon seeing it and he knows he’s done good. 

“Thank you so much, again. For everything.”

“Don’t worry about it. What are friends for?”

“Well at this point, changing oil, making amazing spaghetti dinners, building blanket forts, watching Disney movies, bringing emergency supplies of baby snacks, as well as adult snacks, and coffee.”

He smiles and unpacks his own lunch and pulls up an extremely small chair to sit in next to her desk. When he folds himself into it, his knees are nearly in his chest. “Sounds like a pretty solid friendship to me.”

“That it is,” she smiles. They pray together over their food and dive in. 

“So how has your day been so far?” He asks her.

“Pretty good,” she answers around brownie. Of course she started with dessert first. Din smiles into his lap, hoping she won’t notice. “The kids are super excited to meet you.”

“I heard you’ve been talking me up,” he looks up and the smile is still plastered to his face. He just can’t help it when they’re together. She is just so beautiful. She is wearing a pale teal blouse and a violet cardigan, the cool colors somehow bringing out the warmth in her skin tone. Her long dark hair is clipped half back so that the top hair is out of her face, but the long waves are still free to swish as she moves. 

“Yes well, it’s not hard to do.”

He blushes. The heat on his cheeks is worsening and he tries to resist the urge to loosen his tie. To busy his hands, he pours them both coffee into the cups that snap onto his thermos. 

“You certainly came prepared,” she smiles. 

“Yeah, I’ve been on too many stakeouts not to have a nice thermos. Cara always forgets coffee and an uncaffeinated Cara is a homicidal one.”

She chuckles and takes a sip of the coffee only to moan. 

He tries really hard not to blush at that either, but he feels as red as a ripe tomato. 

“You remembered.”

“Cinnamon?”

“Yes, ugh. This is perfect. This is exactly what I needed today. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiles. 

She looks at the clock. “Oh, we better finish up. The kids will be coming back any minute now.”

His stomach drops. He almost forgot the reason he was here. This was not just a fun picnic with his friend, no. This was about to be public speaking hell, his worst nightmare coming to fruition.

A brood of children charge into the room and he instinctively adjusts his tie and checks that his badge is clipped to his jacket. He doesn’t wear a full suit every day, and he forgot how stuffy it is. Most of the time, he gets away with a button down and dress pants and, if he’s doing raids, tactical gear, which he prefers. Now, standing in the back of the room while the children rush towards their desk, he is reminded of how truly suffocating a suit is. 

“Everyone! Everyone!” Omera calls, stepping to the front of the room. “Take your seats quietly, our guest is here!”

The classroom is immediately obedient and their eyes turn to him, a mixture of horror and wonder, but all eyes wide. 

“Hi,” he says with a nod. 

“Come on up to the front of the room,” Omera goads him. Can she sense how nervous he is? As he steps closer, he wonders if she can hear his heart pounding. His blood is rushing so fast it makes it difficult to hear when she begins his introduction. “Everyone this is Special Agent Djarin, he works at the FBI. Does anyone know what that stands for? We talked about it this morning.”

“Federal Bureau of Investigation!” Shouts a little boy, bouncing up in his seat. 

“Very good, but let’s take a moment to remember to raise our hands before we talk okay? Everyone needs to have a chance to talk to Agent Djarin. Now take out your questions and when our guest finishes his presentation you can ask one question from your list. Okay?” 

Everyone nods. 

“The floor is yours, agent,” she winks and steps aside. 

He looks at the room of 20 children staring expectantly at him. “Um. Hi. As Om - I mean, Mrs. Avidan said, my name is Agent Djarin and I work for the FBI.” He clutches the back of his neck, takes a steadying breath and continues, “I started working there about five years ago and I work on a specialized task force for preventing child abduction. Does anyone know what the word abduction means?”

They are silent. 

“It’s when a little kid gets kidnapped by some very bad guys. My job is to find the child and reunite them with their family if deemed safe by CPS - uh that’s child protective services. Sometimes, I also work to help women who get kidnapped as well. Anyway.” He’s rambling. In the back of the room he makes eye contact with Omera. She’s holding a coffee cup to her lips and gives him a thumbs up with her other hand. 

“Anyway, a lot of what I do can be prevented though, if you’re aware of your surroundings. What should you do if a stranger comes up to you?”

A little girl raises her hand. 

“Go ahead,” he instructs. 

“Run away. Find your mommy or daddy.”

He nods. “Very good. If a stranger ever approaches you, you should find the closest adult you know. If you can’t find an adult that you know, look for a police officer or if you're at a store, find someone who works at the store. You’ll know they work there because they’ll be wearing a uniform.

Now, sometimes, strangers trying to kidnap you won’t always be nice. Sometimes, especially if you’re small, they’ll try and pick you up and run. What should you do if that happens?”

“Kick ‘em!” Someone yells. 

“Bite ‘em!” Another shouts. 

Din laughs and holds up his hands. “All good, but the best thing for you to do is to yell ‘fire’ everyone will look to you and then you can start yelling for help. Okay? You keep yelling and you kick and bite and hit until they let you go.”

They all nod. 

“Now… Who wants to start with the questions?”

A little girl raises her hand and he calls on her. 

“What happens if we get abducted?”

“Do you mean, what do I do to find you?”

She nods. 

“Well. It starts with a phone call. Someone has to notice you’ve been abducted. Most of the time it's your parents. They’ll call us and we’ll start investigating. We work with local authorities, put out an APB and try to locate where they have taken you. Then, when we find you,” he uses ‘when’ purposefully, even though most cases revolve around the word ‘if’. “We will send in a raid team. These guys will look super scary, they’ll be dressed from head to toe in bullet proof gear and they’ll have a helmet. They’ll also be carrying big guns. If you see one put your hands up on your head and announce who you are. They’ll take you to safety. Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah. Thank you, sir.”

He nods and fields another question. 

“Why aren’t you wearing a cool uniform?” A boy with a mohawk asks. 

Din chuckles. “I don’t have a cool uniform, but I do have a badge,” he takes it out and passes it to the closest kid so they can look at it and pass it around the room. 

“How do you be an FBI agent?” 

“Mostly hard work. You have to pass a physical aptitude test - um that’s like making sure you can do everything you need to. You have to run, sprint, do sit ups, push ups, and pull ups. Also, you should know how to use a firearm.”

“Wow I wanna be an FBI agent when I grow up.”

“Do you carry a gun?”

“Normally yes, but I’m not carrying one right now.”

“Why not?”

“Charlie, only one question,” Omera chides from the back of the room. 

“Do you have a partner?” 

“Yeah, her name is Cara. Maybe if we sweet talk Mrs. Avidan she’ll have Cara come in one day too.” Nothing would please him more than Cara having to suffer through thousands of questions from kids. 

“Wait! Girls can work for the FBI too?” 

“Of course, my partner is the best agent in the entire Bureau and she’s a woman.”

“Wow. That’s awesome!”

“Have you ever shot someone?”

Din hesitates and looks to Omera. She nods. “Yes… But it’s a very serious thing and we only fire our weapons if it is absolutely necessary.”

“Have you ever not found a kid?” 

Din hesitates again. “I don’t want to scare you,” he begins, making eye contact with Omera. He knows his job is dark, but he wants to be as real as possible. If Omera shakes her head, he’ll stop and lie, saying they have never  _ not _ found a kid, but she nods instead. “But sometimes we don’t. Not every abduction story has a happy ending, it’s not T.V. That’s why you have to do your best to prevent it because sometimes… sometimes the bad guys do win and sometimes we don’t get to bring you home to your mom and dad.”

The classroom falls silent. 

“Can you tell us a story?” One boy asks. “About how you caught a bad guy?”

Din thinks back, trying to remember a  _ really _ good story about how he caught a bad guy. Problem is, it needs to be classroom appropriate. “Well, one time, I told you about the raids right? Where we charge in with guns and bullet proof gear? Well, we charged in and we found the bad guy on the toilet.”

The classroom erupts in giggles. 

“What did he do?” Shouted a child. 

“He was very surprised, I’ll tell you that much.” In reality, the guy launched up from the toilet, pants still around his ankles and tried to make a break for it through a tiny bathroom window. That was not a sight he wanted to dwell on for long. 

He continues fielding questions, and it isn’t so bad after a while. The kids have genuinely good questions, like if he gets to work with a service dog or if he gets to drive a really cool car. Then, after what feels like both an eternity and a blink of an eye, Omera comes back to the front of the room and announces that it is time for him to go. 

The collective groan that comes from the classroom is Earth-rattling. 

“Can Agent Djarin come back soon?” A little girl bounces up. 

“Maybe. But everyone say thank you,” Omera smiles. 

“Thank you!!” They all shout and Din smiles. 

“It’s been fun, guys. Stay safe.”

He collects his lunchbox, but leaves the thermos of coffee for her. He has a feeling she will need it. Upon his exit, Omera gives him a tiny wave but he can see the gratitude glistening in her almond eyes. 

~

Omera is packing up her things and puts the thermos in her bag she uses to carry all of her papers, laptop, and lesson plans. Her mind is everywhere but where it really needs to be; she keeps thinking about how great Din was with the kids. He was patient and kind, and very informative. She doubts she would have had such an interactive day with a random police officer. He had a rocky start, she could see the nerves on him as he adjusted his tie and physically made sure his badge was still with him. She wonders how often he dresses up like that for work, every time she has seen him he has looked comfortable, either wearing jeans or sweats - but then again he hasn’t been back to work for very long. 

There is a knock on her door and her heart lurches, thinking it’s Din again, only to be disappointed when it isn’t. 

“Hey, Kelly,” Omera greets. Kelly has her auburn hair tied neatly back in a pony tail and is sporting a questionably work appropriate low cut shirt. 

“Hey was that the FBI agent you were telling me about that stopped by?”

“Yeah, he was great.”

“Do you know if he is single?”

Omera is thrown. What? Is he single? How would she know? It’s not like they have dinner together almost every night and text each other randomly through the day. He sent her a cute hedgehog wearing rainboots picture the other day and she almost died laughing. He knows exactly how to cheer her up if she’s having a rough day. 

“I, uh, I don’t know. I’d have to ask him.”

“Well, if you do. Can you give him my number? I might need him to come to my room and give a presentation on stranger danger.”

“I, uh, yeah sure.”

“Thanks,” Kelly winks and saunters off. 

~

He hasn’t heard from  _ Optimistic  _ in a month and he considers writing to her, but it just doesn’t feel right. Maybe… maybe he should give them time to breathe. She is probably still healing from her husband’s passing and being stood up by him. He feels wrong to write and ask for forgiveness. 

Hasn’t she given him enough?

Din’s phone vibrates and he smiles upon seeing a text from his favorite first grade teacher. 

_ I can’t thank you enough. The children loved you _

_ I actually had a lot of fun. They’re good kids _

_ Yeah they are. Maybe I’ll bake you a pie as a thank you _

_ How about we do dinner instead? I still have that gift card you gave me  _

_ You can’t buy your own thank you gift  _ (eye rolling emoji)

_ Technically you’re buying since it’s a gift card you gave me  _

_ Well in that case… When do you want to go? _

_ When are you free?  _

_ Saturday? _

_ I think I can squeeze you into my busy schedule _

(eye rolling emoji)  _ He’s got jokes _

_ 18:00? _

_ Sure. I’ll call my sitter. You can leave Diego here with her too, if you want _

_ Well if you trust her, I trust her _

_ Sounds like a plan :) _

~

“That sounds an awful lot like a date, Djarin,” Cara says as they walk out to the track. 

“You don’t think I know that? I’m panicking… I - I haven’t been on a date since X’ian.” 

“Yeah and she was just a treat.”

He sighs.

“Where are you going?”

“Her favorite Italian place. It’s a small, family owned thing.”

“What are you wearing?”

“I have no idea. Jeans? A button down?”

“Ask her what she is wearing.”

“What? Isn’t that, like, you know?” Too personal? All he can think of are those low budget movies on the Lifetime network where a man - normally with a voice that can only be described as  _ greasy _ \- asks a woman over the phone what she is wearing. He doesn’t need Cara knowing that though, she’d never let him live it down. First Disney movies, now Lifetime movies? He might as well dig his own grave. 

“A normal question when you don’t know the dress code? Yes. Yes it is.”

He swivels his head to glare at her. 

“Don’t look at me that way. Now come on, Drop and give me another Fifty-nine sit ups. Let’s go.”

~

_ Hey quick question for tomorrow. What should I wear? Is there a dress code or anything? _

_ Nope! I’m just wearing a dress and flats _

_ Okay, I’ll drive? _

_ Sure!  _

~

It’s Saturday and she is glaring at her closet. This isn’t a date, no. Absolutely not. It would be heartless to be going on a date four months after her husband passed. No, this is absolutely  _ not  _ a date. 

Omera holds the purple dress back up, sighs, and puts back for the yellow one. She has never been afraid of color, but she wonders if this…  _ too _ much. Din is a pretty plain guy, he never dresses in a way that attracts attention and she highly doubts that he will be willing to be seen with her in a show stopping number like the red dress so she tosses it back. The red dress is  _ too _ much of a date dress. This is just two friends having dinner. 

She pulls a navy blue one out of her closet. It’s plain, it’s simple, it’s modest. She slips it on; it hugs her chest, but flares out at the hips and hits her in the middle of her calf. Digging around in her closet, she pulls out a small pastel yellow cardigan and slips it on. Perfect. 

She slips into her bathroom and quickly puts on makeup, applying foundation, a bit of glittery eyeshadow, mascara, blush, and lip gloss. 

“Mooooommmm! Peli is here!” 

“Okay! I’ll be right there!” She pulls out the curling iron, touches up a few of her waves and unplugs it. Darting to her closet, she slips on her favorite navy blue flats and on her way out she snatches her purse and golden hoop earrings out of the dish by her door. “Peli, it’s so good to see you,” Omera gives her a hug. “I have some mac and cheese in the oven and my friend is bringing over his two-year old tonight as well.”

“You look pretty,” Peli states. 

“Thanks. We’re just getting dinner. I’ll probably be home around nine.”

“Well, you take your time. It’s nice to see you going out again.”

“We’re just friends.”

“I know, but everyone needs friends.”

Omera sighs. Just then, the doorbell rings and she darts to the door. The way her palms are sweaty doesn’t go unnoticed. Is she nervous? She’s never been nervous around Din before and it doesn’t seem like a good time to start. It is just dinner for crying out loud.

She pulls open the door and Din is standing there wearing dark grey pants, a light blue button down, first button purposefully left undone, a black bet and black boots, all with a smiling Diego in his arms. 

“Why if it isn’t my two favorite boys!” Omera grins. “Din, this is Peli, my babysitter.”

He looks at her incredulously. 

“You’re going out with Din Djarin!?” Peli exclaims. “My goodness, did you bribe him? He never does anything fun!”

“You two know each other?” Omera asks. 

“Yeah, she’s my babysitter,” Din grumbles. 

“Well, then I guess it all works out,” Omera smiles. 

“Something like that,” he returns her smile and hands Diego over to Peli. “I have his tablet and frog in the bag.”

“And all the snacks, I know what you put in your baby bag. Go have a good night.”

“Thanks,” they both say. 

“Be good for Peli,” Omera gives Winta a hug. 

“We will,” Winta squeezes back. 

~

Din’s truck smells like peppermint and oil. She loves it. Sitting in the truck reminds her of her grandpa; his truck used to smell like this and they used to drive down country roads, singing along to The Beatles. 

“Turn right here,” Omera instructs and he does. 

She settles into the fabric seats and rests her head against the headrest. Silence with Din never feels awkward. There is a lot about Din that she absolutely admires. He’s a busy body for one, but he already warned her about that. He  _ actually _ enjoys gardening and has helped her put bricks around the bed. They have plans next weekend to re-mulch her flower bed and plant some actually nice plants. Right now, her lawn features only a couple of sad shrubs. Then in a couple weeks, school will be out and she’ll have all summer to spend tending to her garden. What would David say? He had never had time to invest in their lawn. Even when it became a tragic hobby of Omera’s, he still never bothered to help; Din, however, dropped everything as soon as she mentioned the idea of landscaping. She smiles, despite herself. She is terrible at keeping plants alive, has no idea how to even begin a garden. But she went over one day to give Din some freshly made lemonade while he tended to his own yard and he patiently explained what he was doing and why. 

That’s just another thing she appreciates about him. His patience is unending. When his son starts acting up, he simply removes him from the situation and quietly says ‘no’. When Winta is being exceptionally inquisitive he answers all of her questions with patience and grace, just like he did in her classroom. There was one time, when he was fixing the light in her garage, he was twisting the lightbulb out and Winta had asked, “Why do you twist things left instead of right to undo them?”

Din had been silent for a few moments but then he answered, “Haven’t you heard of righty tighty, lefty loosey?”

Winta shakes her head. 

“Well it’s basically a law.”

“Really?”

He had just nodded and continued working. 

“So I could go to jail for twisting something the wrong way?”

“Well no not exactly.”

The way he had blushed was incredibly heartwarming. Unfortunately, he had to explain how something could be a law without there being any actual legal ramifications if one broke it. 

Omera smiles and directs him once again, “It’s right here on the left, you can park around back.”

Din hums in the affirmative and follows her directions. 

She watches him down shift and remarks, “I never learned how to drive a stick.”

“Really?” He asks. 

She shakes her head, “Nope.”

“I can teach you,” he pulls into a parking spot and pulls the ebrake. “It’s a fundamental skill. Everyone should know.”

“What would you teach me in?” She asks. 

He motions to the truck. 

“No, I wouldn’t want to blow up the transmission or something.”

He laughs. “If it can make it through me as a teenager learning stick, it can definitely survive you.”

“You’ve had this since you were a teenager?”

He nods. “It was my adoptive mom’s late husband’s. She gave it to me as a graduation gift.”

“I love it,” she runs her hands down the worn, inner door paneling.

“Wait, really?”

She nods. “Of course, it’s comfortable and reminds me of my childhood. My grandpa used to have an old truck and we went everywhere in that thing. Oh my gosh. One time, we drove all the way to Florida in it and back. It only broke down once, but that was because we got a flat.”

Din chuckles. “Cara hates this thing.”

“Tell her it's the sentiment.”

He laughs, “That’s what I told her!” He runs his hands through his hair and she notes that it looks like he tried to gel it down. His hair - at least every time she has seen him - has been an absolute disaster. Now, his shaggy hair has been combed over in an attempt to be neat, but he still has a cowlick.

She reaches up and tucks it down. He freezes and she apologizes, “I’m sorry. You had a rebellious hair.”

He nods and his cheeks blush. “Thanks. Wanna go eat?”

She nods. “Of course.”

They both step out of the cabin and walk to the restaurant. Upon getting the door, Din steps over and opens the door for her. Immediately, a rush of familiarity washes over her. It’s just like she remembered it. The tables are packed closely together, covered with white tablecloths and small candles in the center of the tables. 

“Do you have a reservation?” The hostess asks. 

Din’s eyes widen with panic, but Omera steps up and says, “Yes. It’s under Avidan.”

The young girl scans her list and smiles, “Right this way Mr. and Mrs. Avidan.”

Omera’s heart sinks and she can tell Din feels the same way. She’s only referred to as Mrs. Avidan at school and Mr. Avidan is… well, not Din. They arrive at their table, next to the windows, and Din pulls out her chair for her. Blushing, she sits down. This reminds her too much of being out with David. He was never a big fan of Italian food, but she loved it - still does for that matter. A coworker of his recommended her to this place and they went here every year for her birthday. 

“Sorry,” Din apologizes as he scoots into the table, knocking his knee against its leg so that the candle wobbles. He instantly steadies it and grimaces. “I didn’t think to make a reservation.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I come here every year for my birthday. I know it can be packed.”

“When is your birthday?” he asks, fussing with the menu. 

“Oh, uh, January 23rd.”

He nods and looks more seriously at the menu. 

She suddenly feels awkward. They’ve never actually spent one-on-one time together. They always have their kids and suddenly they don’t. It feels like she is missing an arm. “I always get the manicotti,” she recommends. 

“That looks really good.”

She nods, “I would never steer you wrong.”

He smirks, but doesn’t look away from the menu. 

The waiter comes by and introduces himself, Din orders a water to drink and Omera a wine. She has never seen him drink anything other than water and coffee. However, the man can definitely put away some food. He jokes about how her cooking will fatten him up, but she sincerely doubts this. He is tall and lanky, but she has a feeling that he is a bottomless pit. However, he said that on multiple occasions he just kind of… forgets to eat. She understands, David used to do the same thing. He would be in surgery for 12+ hours a day, come home and crash all without eating dinner. She would probably forget to eat too if she didn’t have a scheduled lunch break every day. 

“Thank you so much for helping, again. The kids loved you,” she says after the waiter comes back and takes their food order. 

“It was nice. They’re good kids. I was really afraid I’d scare them though… My job is… well…”

“Not exactly PG rated?”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not.”

“So…” she clears her throat. “My coworker found your… lesson very insightful and asked me if you’d be willing to speak in her classroom as well.”

Din’s eyes widen. “Oh. I don’t know. I, uh… after the PT test Monday, I’ll be read in and have cases to work again.”

She wonders what that means in terms of their time together as well. Her job is coming to a close for the summer and his is ramping up. Will they be able to still have movie nights? Winta enjoys them just as much as she does. “That’s okay,” Omera says, taking a drink of her wine. “I’m not sure her intentions were all that pure anyway.”

“What makes you say that?” He asks as he pulls his glass up for a drink.

“She asked if you were single.”

Din chokes on his water. 

~

Din walks her back to the truck and opens the door for her. It squeaks - he makes a mental note to grease it when he has a free chance - and she slides onto the passenger’s seat. 

“In?” he asks. 

She nods and he gently closes the door. 

Hustling around the truck, he opens the driver’s door and slides in. “Well. It’s only eight. I’m sure the kids will be thrilled to have us back so early,” he comments as he starts the truck. The nerves of being alone with Omera have subsided for the most part. She’s quickly becoming one of his dearest friends, already surpassing Iggy and Karga in their role of “I would call them to help me in a pinch”. 

“Why don’t you teach me to drive this beast?” She pats the dash. 

He looks over at her. “You were being serious?”

“Weren’t you?”

A smile erupts on his face. It seems so stupid, but this truck - for a long time - was the closest thing he had to family after Armilda passed. Having someone be interested in it, or even  _ like _ it felt like them liking his parents, part of his family. He only ever experienced that once. He brought a girl over to Armilda when he decided to ask her to prom and Armilda was cautiously optimistic. She had asked all the right questions and, for the first time in his life, he can vividly remember someone being protective of him. He doesn’t remember much of his birth parents just flashes or sounds, but he vividly remembers Armilda asking the girl what her intentions with her son were. He likes to think that Armilda would have loved Omera, not that he’s dating her, because he’s not. This isn’t a date. 

“I think I know a good place to practice,” he says as he throws the truck in reverse. 

~

She has cranked the window down, he did the same on his side, and they have turned the radio up. It is the end of May and summer can be felt in the air. As he cruises down the highway to his ‘spot’ Omera holds her right hand out of the window, letting it drift through the current of air. It is dark outside, but the streetlights of the highway illuminate everything in a hazy yellow glow. 

A song they both know by heart comes on the radio and Omera starts belting the lyrics, grooving a little in her seat as they drive. Din just smiles, glancing over at her. She’s unfairly beautiful - he thinks it all the time, but now he knows it as a truth watching her sing and smile, while her dark brown waves dance in the wind. 

“Come on, I know you know the words!” She laughs, another gorgeous thing about her. Her laugh is soothing, like water trickling over stones in a creek. 

“I don’t sing,” he states. 

“I bet you don’t dance either,” she smiles. 

He shakes his head. 

“Well then I guess I should sing even louder to make up for your absence.” So she does. He can’t help it, her happiness is contagious and he catches himself singing - terribly off key, but she doesn’t seem to mind - along with her. 

They pull up to a parking lot next to baseball diamonds and he throws the truck in park. “Here we are.”

While the temperature of the day had been warm, the sun has sunk below the horizon and the air is now crisp, but not unwelcoming. Omera shivers. 

“In the back, I have my PT gear,” Din offers “There should be a sweatshirt in there, if you want it.”

“If you don’t mind,” she gives him a sheepish smile. 

Twisting around, he finds his duffle and rummages through it, shorts, socks, ah sweater. He pulls it out and hands it to her. Yanking it over her head, she is instantly enveloped in a smell that is distinctly Din Djarin - fabric softener and motor oil. It seems to permeate everything; she thinks it’s because he’s always working on his truck or just around it in general. The sleeves go well past her fingers but she finds herself curling up inside of it nonetheless. 

Turning off the engine, he slides out of the truck, “Ready?” He asks, one eyebrow arched. 

“No time like the present.”

~

She really should have expected it. She saw him with her students, the man is the embodiment of patience. With her sitting in the driver’s seat, and him in the passenger's seat, he points to all the things she needs to know, providing detailed information she needs to know in order to drive this fine piece of machinery. He explains to her the duty of the clutch and how to move her feet and when. He explains the gearshift and what the pattern is. 

When he thinks he finally has touched on everything he asks, “Ready?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I don’t want to hurt it.”

“You won’t hurt it.”

“So I just…?”

“Press the clutch down and turn the key.”

She does. “Well, so far so good,” she mutters. 

“Now start easing into it.” His voice is level, calm. 

She does as he had instructed and they slowly start moving forward. 

“You’re doing great, now shift into first.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, the truck lurches and makes an awful sound, she lets go of everything and the truck rolls to a halt. 

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry!” She shouts. 

To her surprise he laughs. “It’s okay, you just stalled it. Put it back in neutral and try again.”

She does and they do this for a while. Eventually, she thinks mostly by the grace of God, she’s driving the manual and smiling, really smiling. This is the happiest she has been in a while; she feels like she’s twenty again. When you’re young and you’re hanging with friends without a care in the world, there is that feeling of infiniteness. Right now, she feels that bubbling in her soul and she feels  _ weightless _ . 

“Want to drive home?” He asks. 

She laughs and retorts, “Maybe another time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I feel like the pacing for this chapter is a little weird, but I hope you liked it anyway! Thanks, as always, for reading and commenting! I love hearing from you! <3


	10. Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din has a rough day and Omera helps him heal with fluffy family adventures.

Something about warm weather just brings out more crime. Din’s barely been off the desk for more than a month and yet, for the past week, he has probably worked more hours than he has the entire time he has been off the desk. Omera, thank God, has been keeping Diego with her and Winta. Din hasn’t even been home in three days and he’s starting to forget what his cushy bed feels like. He misses his son. He misses Omera. He misses Winta. 

But this kid isn’t going to find himself. He was abducted from a school field trip (Din tries not to think about how easily this could be Diego or Winta) and has been missing for almost 18 hours. It’s crunch time. 

“Djarin!” Another agent - they’re not on his team and their name is currently escaping him - calls. “There’s some lady out here that is looking for you!”

_Great._

Din heaves himself out from behind his desk and swaggers out the front office. Due to security, their office doesn’t allow for many visitors, especially those of the spontaneous variety. This is mostly a blessing, in Din’s opinion, because the last thing he needs is a herd of hysterical mothers flooding his workspace while he tries to save their kids. 

“Omera?” He asks upon seeing her in the lobby. She’s wearing a baseball jersey, shorts and sneakers, with her hair tied up in a loose bun, inky tendrils framing her face. Winta is by her side, holding a bag of fast food and a water bottle. Diego is in his stroller, happy as can be with his stuffed frog. “Everything alright?”

“Perfect. We just missed you and figured you could probably use lunch. We won’t keep you though,” she smiles. 

He’s struck into silence. Not anyone outside of his team has cared this much about him. Then again, he’s not certain he really has any friends outside of his team. “I… Thank you,” he nearly whispers. 

Winta thrusts the food at him. “Momma’s taking us to get ice cream too. Sucks that you can’t come.”

“Yeah… work does that sometimes.” Din tries really hard not to sound as disappointed as he feels. Going out for ice cream with his son sounds amazing. Being with Omera sounds even better. 

“Be safe,” Omera smiles. 

He really wants to kiss her. 

“Always am,” he says instead. 

The three wave and exit. 

“I didn’t know you were married, Djarin,” comments the agent whose name cannot be remembered.

“I’m not,” Din mutters, even though the agent has long continued on their way and doesn’t hear his response. 

~

It’s nearly eleven p.m but they found him. They just didn’t find him alive. Instead of risking the kid being able to identify his abductor, they strangled him and left him for dead. Din texts Omera and while he really wishes he could be more tactful, he’s tired and he just wants to hold his boy. 

_Still up?_

Her response is almost instant. _Yes_ . _How are you? Are you hungry? Come over._

_Be there in fifteen._

It ends up being almost twenty. He pulls up into his driveway and crosses the sidelawn to her home. Trudging up her porch, he unlocks the door with the key she gave him over a month ago and lets himself in. 

As quietly as he can manage, he slips off his boots and shuffles further into the house. He smells something cooking and follows the aroma into the kitchen, where he stands at the doorway for just a moment to take her in. Her long hair is clipped back like normal when she’s working; she likes keeping it out of her face. She is wearing a loose pair of grey pajama pants and a white t-shirt and she’s humming. He can’t recognize the song - but her voice is beautiful. Suddenly, he is reminded of their night driving when she started singing; even though he is incredibly tonedef, he still sang along. What he would give to feel that weightless again. 

“Hey,” he greets softly. 

She doesn’t jump; she simply turns around and beams, her smile slightly crinkling the corners of her eyes.“Hey yourself, stranger.”

He shuffles in and sits on a bar stool at the counter. “How is Diego doing?”

“Fast asleep,” she murmurs. They are both talking in low tones and it’s strangely intimate. There is no one existing in this space but them. 

“Has he behaved for you the past couple days?”

She nods. “Din, I’m pretty sure you have the most well-behaved toddler in the world.”

He chuckles lowly. “Thanks again for taking him. With Peli being on vacation and it being summer break, I wasn’t expecting to be put in such a bind.”

“Don’t worry about it. Winta adores him.”

He nods again, and runs his hands through his hair. He never bothered to change out of his tactical gear, and he is suddenly self conscious. These are the clothes that he essentially wears into battle. Donning this armor, he has to block out the emotions that could otherwise get him killed in a dangerous situation. Now, he sits in Omera’s kitchen, wearing this armor even though there isn’t a single threat in the room. 

She turns back to the stove and flips the sandwich onto a plate. “It’s not much, but I figured you haven’t really eaten since we brought you food.”

He shakes his head. “No, once the case broke, everything moved pretty quickly.”

“How… Can I ask?” She murmurs. 

Din stares at his sandwich, willing himself not to cry. “We lost him.” His voice still cracks upon delivery. 

“Oh, Din.” She winds around the counter and wordlessly pulls him to her chest. He lets her. She tucks his head under her chin and she squeezes him so tight he can feel the love she has for him. 

Even if it is a friendship sort of love, he knows he’s loved nonetheless. 

He wraps his arms loosely around her and mumbles, “It never gets any easier.”

“I know. But you have to know it wasn’t your fault. The only one at fault is the person who did this. It is _not_ your fault.”

He nods, but the tears still trickle down his face. 

“Can you take tomorrow off?” She whispers. 

“They gave me the day,” he rasps after a moment. 

She rocks him back and forth, running her hands down his back. “Good. We’ll do something. Take the kids to the zoo or something.”

“Diego has never been before.”

“Then we’ll do just that.”

~

“I can’t see,” Winta grumbles as they walk through the otter exhibit. Children are smashed up against the glass and while Winta is pretty tall for her age, she is dwarfed by the kids crowding around to see the baby otter.

“Want a boost?” Din asks. 

She nods excitedly and picks her up under her armpits and heaves her up onto his shoulders. Winta knots her fingers in his hair and Omera tries to hide the laugh at Din’s grimace. 

“Don’t make me go bald, kid,” he chuckles. 

“Oh sorry,” she apologizes, but there is no real meaning behind it. She squeals when she sees the baby otter and Omera beams. David never did anything like this, but then again David never really went to the zoo with them either. For a long time before her husband passed, it had always been just Omera and Winta, Winta and Omera. David was a great father, he provided for them in a thousand different ways just… shoulder rides through a zoo was not one of them. 

“Ready?” Din asks, keeping a firm grip on her knees. 

“Yep!” She chirps and they make their way through. Winta keeps her hands tight in Din’s hair, but he doesn’t seem to mind anymore. “Come on, Momma! Keep up!” 

Omera laughs, takes up the stroller and follows after the pair. 

~

It’s lunch time and Din is looking significantly less haunted. Last night she held him for an immeasurable amount of time, until he let go. It could have been minutes or hours, but the sandwich was definitely cold when they finally parted. He ate quickly and excused himself to carry his boy home. If she had to guess, he slept by his crib all night. Omera didn’t blame him. When David would lose patients, he was the same way. He would mourn and move on. However, Din seemed to be able to bounce back a little bit faster, and if she had to guess it is probably because he has seen a lot more terrible cases, with much more tragic endings. 

They have unpacked their food and are sitting around a picnic table in the shade. Winta is happily munching on her carrot sticks and Din is feeding Diego applesauce. So far the day has been absolutely perfect, apart from the small meltdown Diego had when a tiger lunged at the glass. Honestly, she didn’t blame him - her heart lurched into her throat too when it happened. 

Din chuckles as Diego hums with satisfaction while swallowing his applesauce. As he spoons another bite to the little boy, Din mimics his boy’s facial expressions - opening his mouth and then closing it when Diego finally wraps his lips around the spoon. She suppresses a giggle and turns back to her sandwich. 

In the crowd, someone starts screaming and Din leaps from the bench, eyes scanning the herd of people, hand floating towards the side arm that isn’t there. Studying Din’s body language, Omera scoots closer to Winta, who is still blissfully oblivious to what is going on. Two kids come darting through the throng, chasing each other with windmills and their parents trailing close behind, yelling for them to behave. 

Din all but melts back onto the bench. “Sorry,” he mutters, but he doesn’t pick up the applesauce to start feeding his son right away. Instead, he stares at the wood of the table and takes a few deep breaths. 

“Da?”

All three of them freeze and stare at the boy in the stroller. 

“Da?” The boy smacks the table of his stroller, clearly adamant about receiving another bite of applesauce. 

“No,” Din shakes his head, clearly trying to dismiss this particular consonant and vowel combo.

“Dada?” The boy smacks the table again and everyone starts laughing. 

“What was that?” Winta is grinning. “Dada?”

“Dada!” The boy shrieks and they are all in disbelief. 

Omera looks to Din and there are tears glistening in his eyes. “Okay okay, more applesauce, I know,” he laughs wetly and spoons his son another bite. 

The boy hums loudly to express how tasty he finds it and they start laughing all over again. 

~

The ride back to the house is silent. Both children are tuckered out from their day of adventure and seeing animals. Diego had been over the moon at seeing real, live frogs. Winta went on and on and on about how she wants to be a marine biologist when she grows up. Omera and Din both nodded and listened even though a couple months ago, she had wanted to be an astronaut. 

“Today was great,” Omera comments as she drives. They had decided to take her car, which is fine in Din’s opinion because he doesn’t have to be so focused on driving and can take her in instead. Her profile is just as beautiful as the rest of her and he really loves the way her hair bristles in the wind of the partially open window. 

“It was,” he answers, looking back out into the sunset. 

“Do you two have any plans for the fourth?”

“No,” he sighs. “That’s coming up soon isn’t it?”

“This weekend.”

“I don’t suppose we can tag along with you guys?”

She chuckles, “Like you even have to ask.”

He wants to hold her hand, it’s resting right there on the gear shift, but he doesn’t. They have a steady, sturdy friendship; plus, she lost her husband not even six months ago. He knows she still thinks about him frequently. She has also been telling him more about her late husband. Apparently, he was really meticulous and while Din himself could be rather meticulous - just look at his lawn - Din has a firm belief that if you aren’t getting dirty, you aren’t having fun. So when he was babysitting one day and the kids just so happened to make mud pies in his backyard, he may or may not have encouraged them. Omera had been so surprised. Din apologized if Winta’s clothes had been ruined and to his surprise she had said, “That’s what washing machines are for.” Late that night, she had told him about how David would get irrationally upset at things getting stained or ruined. Din clearly did not share that same sentiment. How were kids supposed to learn if they didn’t make mistakes first? 

Safe mistakes, that is. Dangerous mistakes are strictly prohibited. At least, that’s what he likes to think anyway. He doesn’t want to deal with any crises in the near future. 

~

“Hey what’re you doing for the fourth?” Cara asks him. His desk is right across from hers and while he protested the arrangement initially, it has come in handy. However, now is not one of those times. 

“Hanging out with Omera and Winta.”

“Really?” She sniffs dramatically. “I’m being replaced.”

“No one could replace you,” he says as he scrolls through the database. They had some identifiable features, he just had to _find_ the guy now. 

“Damn straight. Can Tiff and I tag along?” 

“What?” He asks. 

“Oh, so it’s a date?”

“It’s not a date.”

“Djarin, quit fooling yourself. You _like_ her. I can tell.”

“Yeah, she’s a good friend,” he goes back to the database. 

“A good friend who you want to bang.”

He sputters and glares at her. “No.”

“Yes.”

“ _No_.”

“You have thought about it, though.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response and goes back to scrolling. 

“How is that widow by the way? The one you were writing to?” 

“I haven’t written to her in awhile.” He answers without looking at her. 

“Wouldn’t that be crazy if Omera was the widow? I mean her husband did die earlier this year.”

He glares at her. “You are almost as bad as Karga with your conspiracy theories.”

“I’m just saying it’d be cool.”

No it wouldn’t; he couldn’t live with himself if he had Omera’s husband’s heart. He barely came to terms with it as it is. Thinking about all the pain Omera is in after her husband’s death, no. He couldn’t handle it. 

“So the answer is no for us tagging along?”

He sighs, “I’ll ask.”

He’ll ask, but he’s pretty certain she will say yes. He tries not to let that thought be disappointing. 

~

_~~Dear Optimistic,~~ _

~~_I hope you’re doing well. I’m sorry that I never met up with you. I had a relapse and was in the hospital. I’m doing better now._ ~~

~~_Dear Devout,_ ~~

~~_You’re pretty selfish not meeting with me and then not even bothering to write me. I’m almost glad you didn’t show._ ~~

~~_Dear Optimistic,_ ~~

_~~How is your daughter? How are you? It’s been almost six months since the transplant.~~ _

_~~Dear Devout,~~ _

~~_You’re an asshole and you don’t deserve David’s heart._ ~~

~~_Dear Optimistic,_ ~~

_I_ ~~_’m sorry._ ~~

~~_Dear Devout,_ ~~

~~_I’m sorry. I’m sure you have a good excuse for not showing. Maybe we can try again. Maybe we can be friends._ ~~

~~_Dear Optimistic,_ ~~

~~_I miss you._ ~~

~~_Dear Devout,_ ~~

~~_I miss you._ ~~

~

Fourth of July comes in lightning speed and before they know it, Winta is piling into the back of Din’s pick-up while he straps in Diego. “Come on, hurry up! We don’t want to be late!” She cries. 

“Winta, we have plenty of time yet,” Omera states as she loads their bags into the bed. Behind her, Cara and Tiff pack up the Jeep to follow. 

“Yeah, but we have to get the perfect spot!” She bounces. “Din hasn’t done this before, he doesn’t _know_.”

“Winta that isn’t very nice,” Omera chides. 

“But he _doesn’t_.”

“You’ve seen fireworks before, haven’t you?” Omera asks him, walking back to the passenger’s side of the truck and sliding in. 

He nods. “Yeah.”

Winta squints her eyes with skepticism. “When?”

“Well, when I was in the Marines, my buddies and I once climbed to the top of our barracks to watch.” He doesn’t mention the illicit moonshine that also took part of the festivities, but that is neither here nor there. 

“Wait, what’s a barracks?” 

Putting the truck in reverse, Din twists his body so that he can look out the rear window, by doing so he rests his hand on Omera’s seat and feels the brush of her soft locks. His heart skips a beat, but he ignores it so he can focus on what he’s doing. “It’s uh, where people in the military sleep and stuff.”

“Oh, cool.” Winta watches out of the window, trying not to vibrate with anticipation. 

Din has all the windows rolled down because, despite the heat, it’s a beautiful day outside. The breeze brushes Omera’s hair around and he listens to both of the children giggling in the back seat. For a brief moment, he is glad that he drives a manual because the urge to take Omera’s hand is overwhelming. It’s just, when they’re together like this, when the summer air is warm and the atmosphere is filled with giggles of children he feels _whole_. He feels like they’re a family and he has to shake himself to get rid of those thoughts because Omera isn’t his wife. Winta isn’t his daughter. They are just friends, hanging out because their kids love each other as if they were siblings. 

They pull into the park along with several other people. It’s a common area for firework viewing, but Din backs into the grass along the hill followed shortly by Cara and Tiffany. She also backs the jeep in and everyone piles out. Din goes around to the tailgate and pulls it down while Omera spreads out all the blankets, both on the tailgate and on the ground. Winding back around to the back seats, Din unstraps Diego and carries him to the blanket sprawled out in the grass where Winta is happily unpacking their toys. 

Next to them, Tiffany and Cara set up lawn chairs and their cooler. After they set everything up, Tiffany pulls out her phone and starts taking selfies with Cara, some with silly faces, others with her sweetly kissing her wife’s face. 

Everyone is having a great time already and the sun is just hovering above the horizon. 

“Omera! Let me get some pictures of you and Winta,” Tiffany calls, standing up. 

“Oh,” Omera slides off the tailgate and goes over to her daughter. Din watches them with a dopey smile on his face. They’re adorable. They have on matching t-shirts with the American flag and fireworks on them. Winta is wearing a vibrant red skirt and silver leggings as well as her silver chucks. Omera, far less flashy in her fashion choice, is wearing simple denim shorts and navy blue chucks. They pose for the picture and then Winta leaps up, asking for a picture of her with Diego. Tiffany all but obliges, taking pictures of the children and then Din and Diego and finally she says, “Let’s get one of all of you.”

Din hesitates - it feels too much like a family picture. Omera glances at him as if to test the water first, but Winta is already dragging them together. She stands in front of the two adults in the middle, hands on her hips and just absolutely _cheesing_ at the camera. Din holds Diego on his left hip and Omera winds herself closer to his right. When she wraps her arm around him, he nearly stops breathing. Gently, almost timidly, he returns the favor. Her hips are slender, but she isn’t dainty. No, even over her clothes he can tell that she is strong. 

“Smile!”

Din looks up at the camera and smiles. He’s always hated pictures, but he’s trying to be on this end of the camera more often. He had only two pictures of his parents and only one of Armilda; he wants Diego to have a lifetime of them together. 

“Perfect! Now do a silly one!” 

Winta immediately crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue, accompanied by a grotesque noise. Omera sticks out her tongue, still looking adorable, and Din - ever the creative one - gives Omera bunny ears all while wearing his best face of pure innocence. 

“Great! You all look as freaky as you are in real life now.”

Laughing, Omera heads over to Tiff and quietly asks if they can exchange numbers so that Tiff can send her those pictures. Winta, with much more volume, tugs at Dins’ cargo shorts. “Hey! Can we get the sparklers out now?”

“Sure,” he answers, going to the truck and getting out the sparklers and a lighter. “Remember not to get too close to the sparking part. It’ll burn you. And don’t get too close to Diego, you know how he loves shiny things.”

“I know, I know,” she says. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He laughs, “No, I guess you weren’t.”

He lights the first sparkler of the season and Winta takes off, leaping and bounding, twirling her sparkler like a proud owner of a magic wand. She prances about and Din smiles helplessly. This little found family he has is growing and he adores them, more than they will ever know. Omera pulls out her phone and starts recording her daughter, nestling close to Din on the tailgate - their legs touching. 

~

Darkness falls over them like a blanket and not long after, the first firework is shot into the sky. Din only flinches a little; the first one is always the hardest. It’s like riding a roller coaster, the first drop is always the worst - but after that first one, the rest are far less scary. At that first firework he’s a teenage Marine in the desert getting shot at with live artillery and then it all fades away and he’s back on the tailgate with Omera. 

His stiffness, however, does not go unnoticed; Omera leans over and quietly whispers, “You alright?”

He nods, “Yeah. I’m good.”

The conversation stops as a handful of fireworks get shot off and Diego starts crying, which is to be expected. This is his first Fourth of July and those loud booms can be scary, something Din can definitely relate to. Din instantly swoops him up and starts bouncing him, humming a song his mother used to sing to him, but he has long since forgotten the words. 

Miraculously, by the second round of fireworks fired off, Diego has stopped crying and is instead looking up at the pretty colors erupting overhead. 

“Momma, which are your favorites?” Winta asks. 

“I think the ones that kind of look like weeping willows,” Omera answers warmly. 

“What about you, Din?” Winta questions, not tearing her eyes off of the sky for one second. 

“I think the ones that sizzle and pop are my favorites.” Mostly because they are not as loud. The less he can feel his organs vibrating within, the better he is. 

“Ooo, I like those too,” Omera looks over at him and they make eye contact just as a bright blue firework erupts overhead. Everything is illuminated for a brief moment and Din can see the kindness and warmth in her eyes and not for the first time that evening he has a dangerous thought. 

She is beautiful. 

And he really wishes he could kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the shorter chapter - this wasn't in my original outline, but I wanted to include more domestic fluff! As always, thank you for reading and for any comments and kudos. Y'all are the best <3


	11. Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omera takes a business trip; Din loses at Go Fish.

“I have a huge favor to ask of you.” 

Din and Omera are standing in her back lawn. He has built her raised flower beds for a garden and is helping her plant various vegetables. She feels guilty enough as it is, but he has reminded her several times already that he  _ enjoys  _ this. Gardening is something small and nice that he can do that helps him relieve stress caused by his highly stressful occupation. 

He looks up at her and wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. It is uncomfortably muggy outside, but they have ice cold lemonade in the house waiting for them. 

“I have to go to Philadelphia for a teacher’s conference on Monday. I’ll be gone all week and I’ve been trying all of  _ this _ week to convince Winta that she needs to stay with Peli, but she simply isn’t having it. She says she’s happier with you and Diego. Now… I totally understand if you aren’t up to it, you work so much as it is. I don’t want to stress you out -”

“I’ll do it,” he answers firmly. “It’s no big deal. I’ll let the guys know I can’t work late this week and I’m sure they’ll cover for me if needed.”

“Din please don’t feel you have to do this because we’re friends. You  _ can _ tell me no.”

He shakes his head and gives her a smile. She  _ likes _ his smile; it’s lopsided and real. And she can tell he’s genuinely happy because it reaches his eyes, causing them to crinkle. “It’s okay. As long as Winta is okay with it, I’m okay. It’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

He nods and turns back to the flower bed. 

~

In her room, Omera pulls out her tattered suitcase and grimaces at the travel tag still taped to the handle. It has her husband’s name and telephone number to reach in case the suitcase gets lost. Gently, she thumbs the tag and tries to push aside the lump in her throat. It’s written in his scrawl. She used to tease him about his handwriting; she had said they must teach poor penmanship as an elective in medical school. It would have been a miracle if anyone could have even read it in order to return his bag. 

“Momma? Can I help you pack?”

Omera looks up and sees her daughter at her bedroom doorway, Mr. Snuggles in hand. “Sure baby,” she answers warmly. 

Winta bounds in and sits on the bed while her mom starts picking out clothes to take with her. Omera has always had issues with packing light. What if it rains? What if the building is heavily air conditioned? What if it isn’t? Omera finds herself wanting to pack most of her summer  _ and _ winter wardrobe just in case. 

“Are you excited to stay with Din and Diego?” She asks as she folds up some blouses. 

Winta shrugs, “Yeah but…”

“But what? Are you having second thoughts?” Omera immediately jumps into a mental preparation mode. She’s going to have to cally Peli. Peli won’t mind, but she still needs to know. Then she’ll have to call Din, hopefully he won’t be too put out - 

Winta shakes her head. “No… I just... I miss daddy.”

Everything screeches to a halt. If the tag wasn’t enough to make Omera cry, this certainly is. “It’s okay… I miss him too.”

“I was just thinking about you leaving and then I thought of daddy and then,” the little girl trails off and throws her arms around her mom’s neck. “I don’t want you to go. What - what if?”

Omera squeezes her daughter tightly. She doesn’t want to promise that nothing will happen, because then surely it will - that’s just how the universe works sometimes. “Baby, I’ll be okay,” she whispers. “You’ll be okay and you’ll have so much fun you won’t even notice that I’m gone.”

Wetly, Winta nods and Omera sucks in a deep breath. 

This is about to be the longest week of her life. 

~

It’s already sickeningly humid outside, but that is just one of the characteristics of late July in Virginia. Din strolls out of his house and over to her as she and Winta are rolling their suitcases out. 

“Need some help?” He asks. 

“If you don’t mind,” Omera answers. 

They trade; she takes Diego from his arms and he grabs hold of the suitcase and easily lifts it up into the back of her Subaru. “Have everything?” He asks, hand up on the top of the hatch. 

“I think so,” she nods, mentally reviewing her checklist one more time. 

With a nod, he gently closes the hatch and accepts Diego back into his arms. For a two year old, the little boy still loves being held. 

“I wrote some things down for you,” Omera states and hands him a folded up piece of notebook paper. “Just doctor’s office numbers, medical information, stuff like that just in case.”

He seems to blanch at the thought of having the need to call a doctor’s office on Winta’s behalf. “Okay. Hopefully we won’t need anything like that.”

She nods, “I’d rather you have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.”

There is a beat of tense silence before Winta throws herself around her mom’s waist. “I’m gonna miss you Momma,” she whimpers. 

Lowering herself so she can look into her daughter’s eyes, Omera says, “I’ll miss you too, sweetie. Be good for Din, okay?” 

The little girl nods and steps over to Din and Diego. 

Omera raises to her full height and looks at Din. “Thank you.”

He nods, “Be safe.”

Taking a page from his book she gives him a playful smile and quips, “Always am.”

~

In the truck, before he goes into work, Din reads Omera’s letter. Her handwriting is impeccably neat cursive, all t’s crossed and all i’s dotted. 

_ Din,  _

_ Thank you so much for doing this again, I really appreciate it. Winta is really nervous about being alone - so I thought I would forewarn you that a mental breakdown may be imminent. I told her I would call every night, if that’s okay with you. I just don’t want her being too scared. This isn’t her first sleepover since David died, but this is the first time I’ve left her for an extended period of time since his death. I can almost say I’m as nervous as she is.  _

_ Anyway, Winta typically goes to bed at nine and wakes up around 6:00. I normally have to be at school by 7:00 so we tend to have early starts. Her favorite food has quickly become your spaghetti, but don’t let her con you into making that every night. She also enjoys mac & cheese as well as tacos. She’s a little indifferent towards fish, but I don’t think that will be an issue. For breakfast she likes Fruit Loops and Pop Tarts. However, if you feel energetic enough to make her scrambled eggs, she will devour those as well.  _

_ I think by this point you know what her favorite movies and T.V shows are. She packed some books too, if you’re not too busy, try to make sure she tries to at least read a few chapters. I told her she needs to read a few books this summer.  _

_ Either way, please know how much I appreciate you doing this. You truly are a great friend. If she ended up forgetting anything, feel free to let yourself in the house. I’ll be with my phone for most of the day so don’t hesitate to call or text if you need me.  _

_ Sincerely,  _ _   
_ _ Omera _

For some reason, Din catches himself smiling. He folds it up and tucks it in his lunchbox. 

~

He’s only thirty minutes late and he prays that Winta isn’t worried that he forgot about her, because he didn’t - he just got stuck in traffic, he even left early to try and prevent this. With a heavy sigh, he leaps from the truck and jogs up to Peli’s front door. The door swings open before he even gets a chance to ring the doorbell. 

“About time you show up,” Peli chides. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You could have called if you knew you were going to be late.”

“I was driving,” he bites. 

She rolls her eyes and hands over Diego. Winta, with a mixed look of dread and excitement follows behind him. 

_ Me too kid, me too.  _

~

Din had always thought that he would be a terrible father. He never really had a father figure growing up; the closest thing was his birth father and he only really remembers being pushed into a closet by him before the home invaders came and shattered everything he had ever known as normal. However, as he cooks with Winta by his side, he has a little bit of hope that he  _ might _ be okay at this. Diego is easy, he’s just a baby. Winta is incredibly independent, she has thoughts and ideas and she is a  _ really _ cool kid. 

“So,” Winta begins as she watches him chop onions. He figured he would start with tacos tonight. Maybe tomorrow they can do mac & cheese or pizza or something. “Who do you think would win in a fight, a polar bear or a tiger?”

Din thinks. Then decides to think out loud, “Well I guess that depends.”

“On?”

“Where they’re fighting.”

“Why would that matter?”

He huffs a small laugh and throws some onions in the pan. “Well think about it… who would climb a tree faster, a monkey or a fish?”

“A monkey, duh.”

“So when you think about who would win a fight. You have to think about where they are. A tiger probably wouldn’t do well on ice like a polar bear, but a polar bear also wouldn’t do as well in a tropical area like a tiger.”

She makes a noise of deep consideration and then says, “I never thought of that.”

He chuckles in earnest and throws the rest of the onions in the pan. 

“So if we put them in like a room or something. Who do you think would win?”

He laughs again. “I don’t know, maybe the tiger.”

She nods seriously and rests her chin on the counter. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

A beat of silence passes between them and she asks, “What about wolf and bear?”

~

Din laid Diego down for bed at eight as per usual and now it is now rapidly approaching nine. For the past hour, Winta has been happily reading a Magic Treehouse book while Din looked over more reports from the office. He doesn’t exactly like working from home, but if it means he doesn’t have to work late, he’s more than willing to look at reports of sex traffickers from the comfort of his couch. 

“We should probably think about going to bed,” he states, closing his laptop. It’s 9:30, only a little past Winta’s bedtime, but he can see the exhaustion pulling at her eyelids. 

Winta rubs the sleep out of her eyes and mumbles, “No, I gotta wait for Momma to call. She said she’d call.”

Din checks his phone and is pained to see no missed messages from Omera. The last update he got was that she made it to Philly and set up in her hotel quite nicely. 

“Um, how about you put on your pajamas and get ready for bed. Which… where do you want to sleep? I don’t have a guest bed. Um,” he runs his hands through his hair. “You can sleep here on the couch, or you can have my bed.”

“Can I sleep in Diego’s room?” She asks. 

Slowly, he nods. “I think we can make that work.”

“Okay,” she says, sliding off the recliner. 

“Okay,” he nods again. 

Winta goes off to get ready for bed and Din eyes his couch. Yeah they can make this work. He pulls off the back cushions and begins carrying them up the stairs, two at a time. He flicks on the hall light and, as silently as he can manage, he creates a cushion nook for her to sleep in. 

From downstairs, he hears Winta shout, “Momma!”

Two stairs at a time, Din bounds down to see Winta holding the phone to her head. “No momma he’s standing right here, he said I could answer it.”

Din tries to muster his best scowl, but Winta is clearly ignoring him. “No, we had a good day. Din made tacos for dinner, they were good, but not as good as yours.”

He smirks, but decides to let the mother and daughter have their moment. He floats into the kitchen and starts packing himself a lunch for the morning. He sets up his coffee pot and schedules it to begin brewing at 6:30. He shuffles a few things around and idly cleans, trying and also  _ not  _ trying to listen to the conversation in the other room. 

“Grandma Peli got us bubbles. It was pretty cool… Yeah… No! I’m reading… Well this one is about a twister, it’s kinda scary. Can we get twisters here?... Yeah but do you  _ know _ … Okay okay… Did you do anything cool?... Oh yeah, I forgot you’re  _ boring _ .” She giggles and then groans. “Okay… Hold on a second.”

He hears her little feet patter across his floor and then she’s standing at the doorway of the kitchen. “Din, momma wants to talk to you.”

“Oh,” he takes the phone from her hand. “I set up a bed for you in Diego’s room. You can check it out if you want. I’ll be there in a minute to tuck you in.” Do kids still get tucked in? Is that something Winta would want? 

She doesn’t seem phased as she darts up the stairs. 

“Hey,” he says as he holds the phone up to his ear. “How is Philly?”

He hears her sigh and can see the way her shoulders sag when she does that. “It’s okay. I miss my baby. Hotel rooms are too quiet.”

“I know what you mean. Are you rooming with anyone?” He idly pushes a cloth across his counter. 

“No, thank God. I love teaching… but I hate working with so many women. It’s day one and there is already so much  _ drama _ .”

He chuckles. “Well small mercies I guess.”

She hums. “Was Winta good for you?”

“Best-behaved nine-year old in the world. Her and Diego have been attached at the hip for most of the afternoon. I’m impressed she doesn’t get tired of hanging out with him. It’s not like he has a lot to say.”

“Well she always wanted a baby brother.”

Din blushes and he hears Omera huff, “Anyway…” 

He shifts his weight. “I should probably tuck Winta in.”

“Yeah.”

“I could call back… if you want?” He winces. Why is this so awkward? Why is  _ he  _ so awkward?

“That would be...really nice.”

“Okay. I’ll call you in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be counting them down.”

“Okay, uh, okay yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Talk to you in a few.”

Din thinks he can hear the smile in her voice as he hangs up. His heart feels like it’s in his throat. He paces back and forth through the kitchen a couple times before he huffs out a breath and darts up the stairs to tuck in Winta. He finds her adjusting the cushions to make a more acceptable nook. She was the fort foreman, afterall; he should have known she’d be critical of his cushion placement skills. 

“Ready?” He whispers. 

She nods, laying down. 

He flicks out the blankets so that they parachute down and she giggles. Pulling them up to her chin, he swiftly tucks them under her on both sides so that she is a Winta-burrito. “Good?”

She shakes her head. 

“No?”

“Warm up my toes,” she whispers, wiggling said toes underneath the blanket. 

He looks at her. What?

“Just rub them real fast,” She clarifies.

He does as she asks and quickly rubs her feet between his hands, eliciting another giggle.

“Okay, okay. That’s good.”

“Toasty toes?” he asks. 

She nods. 

“Anything else you need?”

“Just leave the light out there on.”

He nods and heads out. “Sweet dreams.”

“You too.”

In his own room he performs his quick bedtime routine of brushing his teeth, putting on his pajamas and folding his blankets back so that he can climb in. Once he is settled, he calls Omera. 

She picks up on the second ring. 

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” he smiles. Her voice sounds even more beautiful over the phone. He can’t get over how she sounds like the embodiment of calm. 

“What’re you doing?”

“Laying in bed. What about you?”

“Same. Watching some QVC program for a pocket knife with thirty-two different functions.”

“How much is it?”

“Fifty-Seven Ninety-Nine.”

“Well that sounds like a hell of a deal,” he deadpans. 

“You would know.”

He can’t help the smile blooming on his lips. “Is that a joke about me owning too many tools?”

“You could get rid of all of them and replace them with this pocket knife. If you call now you can get two for a once in a lifetime offer of Seventy-Eight Ninety-Nine.”

“Mmm no, if they’re offering two then it’s definitely shoddy. I wouldn’t trust it.”

She laughs. “Tell me about your day.”

So he does. There’s not much to say, if he’s being honest. They’re trailing after an old gang that was thought to be gone - the Empire. Mostly, they buy and sell on the black market. His team used to be able to track their movements via their online platform until social activists pushed to have their website taken down. While it did cut into the Empire’s sales by quite a bit, it also made it nearly impossible for his team to track their movements without obtaining a warrant. So far, the kid that they lost a few weeks back has been their best lead. They didn’t leave any DNA evidence, but there was some soil on the tape that bound the kid that was traced to a certain area in the mountains of Virginia. 

“I still can’t get over how he was kidnapped on a field trip. It’s so scary.”

“It only takes a second,” Din whispers. 

“Don’t remind me.”

“What about you? What did you do today?”

She laughs. Mostly, she got set up for tomorrow. She drove for a good part of it and went to dinner with some of her coworkers and some other people from a neighboring district that Omera had never met before. They all seemed nice enough, but Omera just doesn’t like the needless drama that seems to follow a group of women after one too many glasses of wine. 

Before they both know it, it’s almost midnight and they’re both dozing off. 

“It’s getting late,” Din yawns. 

She hums in agreement. “We should probably hang up.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

“For?”

“Being such a good friend.”

“It’s not hard to be friends with you, Omera.”

There is a long beat of silence and she breathes, “I’m dozing off.”

“Get some sleep.”

“M’kay.”

“Good night,” he murmurs. 

“‘Night.”

~

The next night seems a little easier. They make pancakes and Din lets Winta add blueberries, sprinkles, chocolate chips, and other various sweet things into her batch. “Can I flip one?” She asks. 

“Sure,” he answers and hands her the spatula. 

“Okay… How?”

He puts his hand around hers and gently flips the pancake over. Her smile when she realizes she flipped her first pancake is infectious. 

They eat with a great deal of laughter and Din is pretty sure more syrup is on the table than on their pancakes. Oh well. It wipes up. 

After dinner, they go outside with an old pickle jar and catch lightning bugs. Winta jumps around trying to catch them and even Diego toddles around trying to help. When the little boy face plants, Din nearly panics, but is quickly calmed by the bubbles of laughter from both of the children. 

When everyone is bathed and in their pajamas, Din allows a quick episode of a cartoon Winta has been deeply invested in. Din goes upstairs to lay Diego down and by the time he returns, he finds Winta on the phone with her mom again. She is recounting, with great excitement, their nighttime expedition and how many critters they caught. However, after about thirty minutes the girl lets out a massive yawn and - most likely with urging from her mom - decides that it’s time for bed. 

Just like the night before, Din and Omera plan to talk after Winta has been tucked in and, again, just like the night before Din wraps the girl tightly in the blankets and warms her toes. 

With a breathy giggle, the girl mumbles, “Toasty toes.”

“Sweet dreams,” he murmurs. 

She hums something else, but is already falling asleep. 

Once he himself is ready for bed, he curls up and dials Omera’s number. 

“Hey there.” He can hear her smiling through the phone. 

“Hey,” he smiles back. 

“I heard you had an adventure today.”

“You could call it that. How about you, how was your day?”

She sighs. At first she talks about how much she misses Winta, then she briefly discusses a new system they are learning for dealing with at risk kids - an issue Omera dealt with in other districts she has taught in, but not so much now. She talks about how Kelly has already started her crusade of trying to sleep with as many teachers as she can. Not that Omera minds; it’s just boring listening to the tales of conquests over and over again. There are only so many times Omera can listen to recounts of awkward one night stands and still feign interest. 

When she finishes her story about her day they fall into a warm silence. For a while, they just listen to each other’s breathing. Din can almost imagine her laying next to him, can almost smell her laundry detergent and shampoo. 

“What’s your favorite color?” she murmurs. 

“My favorite color?” His voice is equally as soft. 

“I feel like I know so much, but so little about you at the same time.”

It’s because they know all the important things. He knows about David and how they met and how they married. She knows that his parents died when he was young and how he grew up in the foster care system until he met a kind Chilean lady who adopted him as one of her own. 

“Red,” he whispers. “Yours?”

“Purple.”

“You do wear a lot of purple,” he murmurs. Why would he say that? That’s incredibly creepy. 

He hears her huff a slight laugh and his nerves wash away. “It’s because it makes me happy.”

_ You make me happy.  _ He instantly kicks himself. No, he can’t say these things. 

“Din… what is something that makes you happy?”

He’s silent because all he can think about is when they’re all together. When they’re eating dinner and curled up on the couch. 

“My family,” he answers neutrally, his voice cracking. 

She hums. “Me too. Winta is all I have left of David. That and all the fancy awards he earned for his selfless acts over the years.”

“I just have a couple photographs of my family.”

“Tell me about them,” she whispers. 

His heart could shatter right then and there. “I don’t remember much about my birth parents… My mom would always sing to me. I still know it - the song, I mean. I just can’t remember the words anymore. I remember my dad… my dad was really strong. He would squeeze me so tight, I would think he would break my ribs.”

“When did they die?” 

“I was six. Then I moved in with Armilda when I was fourteen. I was so terrible to her, oh my God. It’s a wonder she didn’t kick me to the curb.” He falls silent for a moment and she doesn’t interrupt him. “She was the only person that ever showed me compassion. She supported me in everything I did and  _ loved  _ me. She always made the best apple pie too and her house always smelled like cinnamon.”

“Oh my grandma made some of the best cinnamon bread I have ever had in my life. I think I may have her recipe laying around somewhere. Mine never turns out as well as hers.”

“Well I would gladly volunteer as your taste tester,” he smiles. 

“Are you no longer worried about your waist measurement?”

He shrugs and then realizes she can’t see it. “I’ll just run an extra mile in the morning.”

She laughs. “Listen to you. ‘Run an extra mile’. I can barely run  _ one  _ mile. How many miles do you run every day?”

“Depends on how early I get to the office, most of the time two or three. I really hate running.”

“I can’t think of anyone who  _ likes  _ running.”

He’s quiet for a minute and then answers, “You know, I can’t think of anyone either.”

They laugh for a moment and then fall into another bout of peaceful silence. “We should go to sleep,” she whispers. 

“What time is it?” He asks while looking at his watch, it was nearly midnight. 

“Midnight,” she mutters. “We’re going to be so tired in the morning.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“I would kill someone for some of your coffee. I don’t know what you do differently…” she trails off. 

“Well if you drank it now then you really would be tired in the morning,” he jokes. 

He can hear her sigh and he whispers, “We should really get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” she agrees.

More silence. 

“Omera, did you fall asleep?”

“Mmm, no,” she mumbles. 

He chuckles. “I’m going to hang up now.”

“Okay, me too.”

Neither of them hang up. 

“Omera?” He whispers after a beat of silence. 

“Din?”

“Sweet dreams.”

“You too.”

~

Din likes having Winta around. They’ve already made it halfway through the week without incident. Every night, dinner is filled with giggles, tall tales, and smiles. At night, they think of silly things to do - like right now they are in a very serious game of Go Fish. 

“Do you have a two of diamonds?” Din asks her with a brow arched. 

She peers at him over her hand of cards. “Go fish.”

He pulls a card. 

“Do you have a five of spades?” she questions. 

They each sit on one side of the table and in the middle Diego is happily blabbering and watching the two in their fierce tournament. So far it is 1-1, this would be the tie-breaking game. 

“Go fish.”

She does and then grins. Shaking his head, he asks, “Do you have the four of hearts?”

She huffs and hands him a card. “Gimme your two of diamonds.”

“Rude,” he mutters as he pulls it out and hands it to her. She grins like a cheshire cat and adds it to her stack. 

Ultimately, she is the victor. 

~

That evening, Din and Omera fall asleep a little earlier than normal and Din has mixed feelings of gratitude and loneliness. Talking to her is so easy, so natural, but they really need to get their sleep. She is going to another conference tomorrow (she had groaned about if she had to do  _ one _ more ice breaker challenge she would end it right then and there) and he has a briefing tomorrow on the trends of the Empire gang. 

When he drifts off, he dreams of her in his arms. In his dream, it’s Sunday morning, light is filtering in through the blinds, illuminating small particles of dust in the air. She is curled up on his chest and he slowly cards his fingers through her hair. He bends down and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. Humming with lingering sleep, she pulls herself up and gazes into his eyes. 

“Good morning,” she beams. 

“Good morning, beautiful.”

She leans forward to kiss him and - 

A floorboard creaks and Din’s eyes snap open. He scrambles up and hears a timid gasp from the door. Peering into the darkness, he hisses, “Winta?”

“I had a nightmare.” Her voice is small and trembling. 

Blinking into the darkness, his eyes quickly adjust and find her form. She’s standing there, toes turned in, shoulders slumped, and clutching Mr. Snuggles to her chest. 

“A nightmare?” He croaks. 

She nods solemnly. 

_ Well shit _ . He has no idea where to begin. He has nightmares all the time - even more so now that he has Diego. Quickly, he sifts through all the things that he does when he has a nightmare. Most of the time, he just gets his day started and reviews case files or goes for a run. However, Winta can’t exactly do either of those things. 

“Do you want some water?” He asks. 

She shrugs. 

Okay then. He gets out of bed and puts what he hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Guiding her into the kitchen, he pulls her up so that she can sit on the counter while he gets her a glass of water. 

Handing her the glass he asks, “Do… Do you want to talk about it?”

She nods but doesn’t say anything, just sips her water. 

A few more beats of silence pass and he tries not to seem anxious. “I dreamed that mommy and daddy died in a twister. They got sucked up into it!” Her lips wobble with restrained grief and he nods slowly. 

What should he do? When he was in the Marines, oftentimes he just let his brothers-in-arms cry it out. He’d hold them if they needed it and they’d cry about a friend they watched die or some other horror of war that they had witnessed. He sucks in a deep breath. “That doesn’t, uh, sound like it could happen.”

“No, because daddy is already dead and mommy is far far away!” She hiccups and crumbles into his chest. She has her tiny fists knotted in his t-shirt and her face pressed against him so hard his only thought is that it must be incredibly uncomfortable. His second thought is more of a gut instinct and he timidly wraps his arms around the little girl. 

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“Not-uh!”

“It was just a dream, tornados can’t come here. We don’t live in tornado alley.”

She sniffles and looks up. “What’s that?”

Oh good, it’s working. “Um, it’s an area in the U.S that tornadoes can only go.” That wasn’t  _ entirely _ true, but she seems less hysterical now. 

“I miss my daddy,” she curls back up into his chest. 

“I know, I know,” he rests his chin on the top of her head and gently rubs circles on her back. 

“How do you know?” She whimpers against his now soaked shirt. 

“I lost both of my parents a long time ago.”

She looks up at him again. “Both?”

He nods. 

“Why… why does my chest feel empty when I think about him?”

Winta, always with the hard questions. 

“Well…” he begins and clutches the back of his neck. “It’ll probably feel like that for a while. Parents and kids are… are kind of connected in a way. That’s why parents hurt when their kids are hurt.”

“Like when I broke my arm and momma cried?”

“Yeah, like that. So… you,” he sighs. This is too hard. He should just have her talk to her mom, but Omera has a big day tomorrow and she needs her rest. “What I’m saying is that there is a hole that is empty, but you just need to fill it with all the love and good memories you have.”

“Kinda like in Coco?”

“Yeah.”

“If I remember him, he will always be with me, right?”

He nods. “Yeah.” Thank the Lord above for animated movies. 

She sighs. “I don’t wanna go back to sleep yet.”

He glances at the time on the stove. 0100. He might be able to get a few hours before work. “Want to watch Coco?”

She nods and he picks her up easily and carries her into the living room. Plopping her down on the semi-cushionless couch, he wraps a blanket around her tightly and then turns on the T.V. He sits down next to her and is surprised when she curls up next to him. Within twenty minutes of the movie playing, Winta is fast asleep - snoring softly. 

Gently, he picks her up from the couch, turns off the T.V. with his free hand and carries her up to her cushion bed in Diego’s room. 

~

Omera quickly brushes her teeth and braids her hair. She just got off the phone with Winta, which means Din will be calling her in about fifteen minutes. She crawls back in the saggy hotel bed and stares at the ugly patterned carpet of the room. 

His picture shows up on her phone as it vibrates - the picture is from the Fourth of July. It’s of him and Diego on the tailgate of his truck, smiling. 

“Hey,” she can’t help the smile that twists the ends of her lips. 

“Hey.” He sounds happy, maybe a little tired too. 

“How was your day?” 

He sighs and she can see the way his shoulders sag and his head tilts when he does. “I hate giving briefings.”

“Why is that?”

“They’re so long and public speaking isn’t… exactly my forte.”

“Well I think you’re great at it.”

He chuckles softly. “Thanks… How was your day?”

She sighs too. “Just another seminar with another round of ice-breakers. Then partner work, then teamwork. Luckily my team got along really well.”

“That’s always good.”

“How is Winta?”

He’s quiet for a minute and her stomach churns with nerves. “She finally had the breakdown you mentioned in the letter. We handled it okay though.”

“Oh my god. What happened?”

“Just a nightmare. She dreamt that you and David died in a tornado. We had a nice discussion about Tornado Alley and choosing to remember all the good memories you have with a person who has passed.”

“Din, that is… actually really sweet.”

He’s quiet and she’s pretty sure he’s nodding and he says, “It was hard. I just told her what I did to get over my parents’ death.”

“You’re amazing.”

He’s quiet for another long moment and murmurs, “So are you.”

Her heart soars. She feels the blush rise to her cheeks and her stomach churns with butterflies. “Any plans for the weekend?” She asks, clearing her throat. 

“Just waiting for our favorite first grade teacher to come home. Winta said something about going to a pool. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I don’t think Diego can swim.”

Her smile grows and she responds, “Maybe we can make it a group trip. Two adults is better than one, especially at a pool.”

“Maybe,” she can hear the nerves in his voice already. 

With a smile she says, “Tell me something good.”

He’s quiet for a long moment and she can clearly envision his eyebrows crinkling as he thinks. “It didn’t rain today.”

She laughs. “That’s the best you got?”

He laughs too. “What, do you want a story?”

“Do you have a story?”

He’s quiet. “I might.”

“Well, tell me a good story.”

He says that he’s not entirely certain if she will appreciate this story or not - with her being a teacher and all - but once in his years of delinquency, him and a group of friends arranged to super glue their study hall teacher to his chair. This teacher, Mr. Wallace, was  _ always _ late.  Din’s friend’s older brother worked in a factory, gluing pieces onto garage doors, and happened to give his younger brother a tube of industrial strength super glue. So naturally, the two delinquents painted the teacher’s chair with super glue right before he came into class. The two of them could hardly contain their giggles and when Mr. Wallace stood, the chair came with him, forcing him to be stuck in a half-seated position. They erupted with laughter and the teacher ended up having to rip the seat of his pants to chase them down the hall, his flamingo boxers showing from the gaping whole in his khakis. 

Omera bursts out laughing, “What do you mean I wouldn’t enjoy that story? I mean, that sounds like my worst nightmare  _ as  _ a teacher, but I’m still going to admit that it was hilarious. So you really were a delinquent?”

“I was just bored. I didn’t have a family, so I found a group of kids in similar positions and we just wreaked havoc all across the city.”

“Where are you from?” She asks. 

“A little bit of everywhere if I’m being honest.”

“I grew up in Montana,” she says. 

“I hear it’s pretty.”

“Never been?”

He hums in the negative. 

“I should take you out there sometime. There’s just so much beautiful land; everything is so green.”

“I’d like to see it.”

She thinks idly about how David hated Montana, just complained about there not being any civilization. He was from inner city Chicago and was used to the hustle and bustle of a city. Washington D.C ended up being a compromise for settling down, he could work in the city while she could have her nice suburb home, and there was just enough greenery to let her keep her sanity. 

“Your turn to tell me something good,” Din says, breaking her from her train of thought. She could hear the smirk on his lips. 

“Something good? Well,” she pauses. “You were the first person to make me laugh after David died. I didn’t think I was capable of feeling happiness after he passed; so thank you for reminding me that there is good still in this world.”

“I...” He begins. “Wow. I, uh, you’re welcome I guess.”

She pauses. “What’s something you're proud of?”

“Making you happy.”

She laughs and butterflies soar in her stomach. She feels weightless. “No I mean, what’s something that you accomplished that you didn’t think you could?”

“Oh, I guess… Most of everything I suppose. Growing up, I got involved in a gang and kinda messed myself up. Joined the Marines, passed all of those hurdles, survived three tours, retired, joined the FBI, worked hard until they put me on a specialized task force, adopted my son. I thought I was going to be dead before I turned twenty-five. But here I am.” 

“You’ve done so much.”

He hums again. “What about you? What’re you proud of?”

“Oh, giving birth to Winta, hands down. The doctors told me that I wouldn’t be able to conceive, but we did and the pregnancy was  _ hard _ . Oh Din, it was so hard. I was sick every day, on bedrest for almost six months. I was  _ miserable _ . Her delivery wasn’t much better. Halfway through pushing, something ruptured and if it weren’t for my will to live and modern medicine we both would have died. I was in a coma for three days. David was terrified.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

She sighs. “It wasn’t all bad. I have my baby girl now. I just… can’t have any more. She’s my little miracle baby.”

“I say the same thing about Diego, but I didn’t go through half of what you did.”

She hums and lets the silence fall between them. She likes listening to him breathe, it’s almost like he’s with her. “What’s something you regret?” She whispers. 

“Not getting out of the room before the bomb went off.”

“What?”

“There was a workplace accident. I was blown up. Barely survived. My chest cavity was torn to shreds.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah. It… was terrifying.”

“Weren’t you wearing a vest?”

“A vest doesn’t do anything against a bomb vest with enough explosive power to bring a building down.”

“Oh my God,” she repeats. 

“I lived, everything is okay.”

They fall into silence again as she imagines all the terrible things that could happen to Din while he is at work. She imagines him getting shot frequently, sometimes car crashes, but never did she ever think of a bomb. 

“What about you?” He questions, pulling her out of her own thoughts for the second time this evening.

“I regret not telling David I loved him more. Looking back, I think I was afraid to say it. We never had time together anyway, he was always working. I just wish I would have… tried harder.”

“Don’t worry. He knows you loved him, that you still do.”

“You’re a great friend,” she whispers. 

“So are you.”

~

The rest of the week passes without incident. By Saturday, Winta is practically vibrating with excitement. She keeps darting to the window, hoping to see her mom’s Subaru pull up in the driveway. 

“She’ll get here when she gets here,” Din chides lightly as she runs across the living room to peer out his window once more, only to groan when she sees the mailman instead of her mom. 

“But I want her here  _ now _ ,” she protests. 

“And I want her to take her time driving so that she arrives nice and safe,” he retorts and Winta glares at him. They have grown more comfortable with each other over the passing week. With each day, she pushed the envelope a little bit further, but so far the best way to get her to quit being sassy is to give it back to her. She doesn’t always know how to handle it, especially when he is right. Like right now. 

She huffs and turns back to the window. “She’s here!” She all but screams and bolts out the front door. “Momma!” 

Omera steps out of her car and crouches in the front yard to welcome Winta into her arms. “I missed you so much, baby.”

Din watches from the porch as they embrace and sway together for a long moment. It’s so beautiful. Watching them together makes him hurt for his own parents, wishing he could embrace them that way. When their greeting has finished, Omera marches up onto the porch and pulls him into a hug as well, to his own surprise. 

“Thank you,” she whispers into his ear. 

Goosebumps rise across his neck at the warmth of her breath on his ear and he fights incredibly hard against the near animalistic desire to kiss her, to wind his hands through her hair, to squeeze her impossibly closer. 

“What are friends for?” he whispers back instead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for reading!! When I was a kid, the mentioned Magic Treehouse book legit gave me nightmares and I was terrified that my parents would get sucked up in a twister... my fears were only confirmed after watching the movie Twister, which I was convinced was real. LOL ah childhood.


	12. Dancing on the Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kelly convinces Omera to go on a blind date, Din copes with jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a small trigger warning for this chapter. There is a very brief mention of rape. If you want to skip it - stop reading at "Maybe there will be pizza left over when she gets back." and continue reading at "'So do you have any kids?'".

Eventually summer turns to fall. The leaves on the trees change from a lively green to vibrant warm hues. Omera goes back to teaching and Winta to learning - she is now _officially_ a fourth grader which means she is no longer in the elementary school and no longer under her mom’s watchful eye. Omera isn’t certain how she feels about it quite yet. Of course, she loves watching Winta grow up into a fine young girl, but some part of her is screaming for her baby to _stop_ _growing_. What happened to the little bundle she could rock to sleep every night? Luckily, she still gets sweet tastes of those feelings when she rocks Din’s baby to sleep. He has let her do that more frequently when they’re all finished with homework and dinner, she picks up the boy, humming to him and rocking him to sleep like he is an infant instead of a toddler. 

The children need to quit growing up so fast. 

“Hey,” Kelly slides into the seat across from Omera in the teacher’s lounge. If she is not in her room, she sits in this exact spot. It’s away from the air conditioning vent and across from the T.V so she can look up from her book to catch the news and weather. Today, she is reading some article on her phone and munching on her lunch that Din had packed for her. He had packed the leftovers from dinner last night - chicken parmesan - and even included a sweet note written in neat all caps -  _ HAVE A GREAT DAY _ \-  _ DIN.  _ She decides that she will keep the note, even though it is written on a napkin. 

“Hey,” Omera greets, putting away the note into a pocket in her cardigan. 

“So I went on a date last night.”

Omera audibly groans, “Kelly, no offense, but I really just am not in the mood for another story about a shitty guy.”

“No! That’s the thing. He was  _ amazing _ .”

“Really?” Omera asks, not bothering to hide her skeptical look. 

“Yeah! His name is Matthew and he has a twin brother Mark.”

_ Oh no _ . 

“And I know it hasn’t really been a year since your husband died, but you should get back out there! Mark is really great; he’s a lawyer, recently divorced. I mean not  _ recently _ , the ink is dry if you know what I mean, but he’s really nice. And, get this, he drives a  _ porsche _ .”

Omera rolls her eyes, she’s not really interested in what the man drives. But, maybe she’s right. Maybe she should get back out there. It’s what David would have wanted. “Okay… set us up for Friday. I’m free after five. Tell him to pick the place and I’ll meet him there.”

“Oh great, you’re going to  _ love _ him.”

Omera doubts that.

~

_ Dear Devout,  _

_ I hope you’re well. It’s been a while since we’ve written. We missed our chance to meet up, what was it in April? I can’t believe so much time has passed. I hope by now you have fully recovered from surgery. I hate to be a pessimist, but my thoughts regarding your recovery have been mostly negative. I fear for the worst. I hope nothing terrible has happened to you.  _

_ If you’re able, write to me soon. _

_ Optimistic _

_ Dear Optimistic,  _

_ Unfortunately, you were right by assuming the worst. I got extremely sick before our meeting and was in the hospital. It wasn’t until I got discharged that I realized I missed our meeting. I’ve been hesitating writing to you because I was afraid. I already robbed your loved one of his heart, I felt like scum asking for your forgiveness as well. However, I am doing much better. I’m back to work now and it feels good to be able to breathe without any pain. How are you doing?  _

_ Kindly,  _

_ Devout _

~

Din sits at his desk absolutely fuming. The Empire has stolen another handful of children - all from different states, but the calling card is there. That stupid cog-like symbol. The children rescued from the Empire gang are all branded with it like cattle. They recently rescued a teenage girl from their clutches, and she had been away from her parents for so long she doesn’t even remember their names. At first, he had been distraught on her behalf, but now he’s pissed. He shoots up from his desk, nearly knocking his chair over. 

“Where’re you going?” Cara asks around her sub sandwich. 

“For a walk.”

She shakes her head, but doesn’t argue with him or tell him to calm down. 

Maybe he needs to change his career field, he thinks as he storms out of the building into the comfortable weather of late September. He’s getting tired of this. He’s getting tired of being too late to save all of the children. The Empire gang is ruthless; they care not for human rights or even human decency. The women and children that get brought in are treated as property and only that. 

And he’s getting tired of seeing it. 

He’s worked hard to be where he is - he’s proud of it. He picked himself up by the bootstraps and made his way all the way to the FBI, a street thug in the FBI? Oh what some of his high school teachers would say now. 

Running his hand through his hair, he looks out into the garden. Women are speed walking with their friends, and men are standing around smoking, something he’s pretty certain isn’t allowed in the courtyard. Din doesn’t smoke, but the temptation of a cigarette is looking mighty fine right about now. 

What is he doing? 

He needs to go back in there and keep looking for the kidnapper, if they can find him they might be able to climb the ranks to the head of the gang. He is getting ready to turn tail and trudge back into his office when his phone vibrates. 

_ Lunch was delicious. Hope you’re having a good day _ :)

The weight of the world is instantly lifted from his shoulders. He doesn’t bother to hide the grin on his face as he texts back. 

_ Doing better now :) How is your day?  _

_ Doing better now :) _

Slowly, he starts meandering back into the office staring at his phone.  _ Plans this evening?  _

_ Lesson planning  _ (crying emoji)

_ I’m sorry, do you need me to bring you dinner? _

_ That would be so fantastic _

_ See you at 18:00?  _

_ We’ll be there :) _

_ :) _

~

Din meets her at her house at 6:00, just like he said he would. He lets himself in and is nearly stampeded by Winta. “Din! Come here! I wanna show you my art project!” He doesn’t have any free hands, so he lets her drag him by his suit jacket into the kitchen. Omera is sitting at the head of the table, glaring at her laptop. He has come to recognize this as her thinking face; her eyebrows furrow together and her lips purse ever so slightly, making her look like she either smelled something foul or is pissed at the world. “Look!” Winta chirps and he looks down at her drawing. She has drawn her bright purple high top sneakers from three different angles. 

“Why’d you draw your sneakers?” He asks, clearly missing the point of a fourth grade art project.

Winta rolls her eyes, “Because they’re cool.”

_ Right _ . “It looks really good,” he says. “Very realistic.”

She beams. “Thank you!”

“Winta, put away your things so we can set the table,” Omera requests without looking up from her screen. With huff, Winta does as she was told and clears off the table. Omera continues tacking at her laptop for a moment before she also puts away her things to help Din unbag the food. Chinese take out - the staple for families with overworked parents. 

They quietly say grace and Omera asks Winta about her day.

“It was good,” she answers after she swallows. “Art class is super fun. I think I might want to be an artist when I grow up.” 

“That would be cool,” Din comments as he supervises Diego’s ravenous consumption of chicken. “You could make Disney movies.”

Winta gasps with excitement and, with words rushing out of her mouth so fast they slur together, she tells them the plot of a movie that she would make. Din nods and tries his best to follow along, but ultimately settles on watching Omera for any cues that he should follow. He ends up getting lost in her beauty. She’s beaming at her daughter, her dark eyes glistening with happiness, and her full lips twisted into a brilliant smile. Her eyes flick over to him and her smile flickers for just a second before it grows and she winks. 

She  _ winks _ . 

His stomach flips and butterflies soar. 

“Guys are you even listening?” Winta wines. 

~

Later that night, she and Din clean up while the kids watch another animated film, the title already forgotten. The sun is already low on the horizon, illuminating the kitchen with a vibrant orange glow. 

“Din can I ask you a favor?” She questions. 

“Always,” he answers, rinsing out their cups from dinner. Their elbows brush and his heart skips a beat. 

“Can you watch Winta Friday night?”

“Sure. What’s going on?”

“I… I’m going on a date,” she answers. 

He nearly drops the cup he is holding. “A date?” He chokes. A date? His mind goes painfully blank.

She nods. “Kelly thought it would be a good idea for me to… ya know. Get back out there, I guess. She set me up with her boyfriend’s brother - Mark or something.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything. He feels like he has been punched in the gut, like he missed the last step going up a flight of stairs, like he has just jolted awake from a dream of endless falling. 

“I’ll be leaving to meet him around seven,” she trails off as she wipes up the table. “Can I drop Winta off at your place?”

He blinks a few times, struggling to find his voice. “Yeah… Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Thanks,” she smiles and he returns it. He has to be a good friend. He’s her friend, shame on him for thinking anything else. 

“I’m really happy for you, Omera.” He offers, even though his heart aches. 

“Thanks.” She doesn’t look at him. 

~

Friday night rolls around and Din is nauseous. She’s going on a date. He shouldn’t be jealous; in fact, he can’t remember the last time he was jealous. Right now, however, he can’t help the sickening waves that keep crashing over him. He is drowning in a sea of envy and there is no life buoy in sight. 

His doorbell rings and he trudges to the door. Before he pulls it open, he counts to five and takes a deep breath. No sense in letting her know it feels like his heart has been shredded,  _ again _ . 

She’s breathtaking. 

She is wearing a daring red number with red heels that bring her up to eye level. The dress cuts into a deep ‘v’ and he quickly averts his eyes. He has never seen this much of her skin before and he just wants to caress her, to hold her, to kiss that vibrant red lipstick from her lips. 

“Hey,” she smiles and he swears he’s going into cardiac arrest. 

“Hey,” he returns, pulling the door open further. 

“I’ll be home by midnight? If I’m any later - I’ll call you.” He tries not to think about her going home with this  _ Mark _ . 

“Sure thing,” he nods, welcoming Winta into his home. 

“Thanks again,” she smiles. 

“Any time,” he manages. When she turns to walk back to her Subaru he has to close the door quickly to refrain from gawking. The dress is backless and he could die. A woman should  _ not _ be allowed to be that beautiful. 

~

Sitting in her car, she sucks in a few deep breaths and tries not to think of how envious she is of Din getting to stay home and watch movies and eat pizza with the kids. Instead, she finds herself parked outside of a fancy French restaurant that most likely serves tiny portions of food for outlandish prices. She sucks in another deep breath and gets out of her car. Kelly had called and made the reservation for them, thankfully, now all Omera has to do is show up and sit through this with grace. 

Maybe she’ll even have fun. 

“Hi, what’s the name?”

“Uh, Kelly Lewis,” Omera answers the hostess. 

“Right this way, ma’am.” Omera tries very hard not to grimace at the fact he’s already sitting at the table. He has jet black hair and harsh, blue eyes. When he stands, she immediately knows his watch and suit alone are more than what she makes in a month. She knows because David used to wear suits like this when he dragged her along to office parties. She hated those parties because she felt like she was being forced to be someone she wasn’t. Everyone was always dressed to the nines and asked about families and children, but she knew that they didn’t actually care. There wasn’t a single genuine bone in the bodies of David’s co-workers. 

“You must be Omera,” he smiles and she finds she doesn’t like it. He looks like it physically pains him to smile. His mouth is upturned, but his eyes still look cold and lifeless. Omera tries not to shudder. 

“And you must be Mark,” she accepts his outstretched hand. He pulls out her chair for her and sits. “I hope I didn’t leave you waiting too long,” she forces a smile as she adjusts her seat. 

“ _ You _ were only a few minutes late, don’t worry about it.”

_ So this is how the night is going to go _ . 

“This place is lovely,” she says instead, taking in the ambiance. The walls are painted a light blue with french-style lights hanging from the walls. White tablecloths are draped over the tables with candelabras serving as centerpieces. She suppresses a smile when she thinks to the one time she and Din went out and he nearly knocked the candle over - she’s almost certain the candelabra would meet its demise thanks to her awkward friend. 

“Yes it’s one of my favorite places,” he explains and then launches into the history of the restaurant. It’s fascinating, really, but he’s so self-assured that she is having a hard time believing some of the claims he is making - like this restaurant is the oldest french restaurant in the city. When he starts talking about the specific brick style that was used for the outside she begins daydreaming. She wonders what Din would think of this place. He would probably enjoy it, in the sense that it is something different, but would also have the same opinions that she holds. This place is way too expensive for the amount of food you get. A single glass of wine is twenty dollars, and that is the cheapest one. 

The waiter comes and asks for their drink order while pouring water into the glasses on the table. She orders the cheap red wine off the menu and he interrupts, “No no, she’ll have the Chateu de Fleur.”

Omera’s jaw snaps shut. 

“You’ll adore it; it’s the best wine they have to offer.”

“I look forward to it,” she sips her water, trying to suppress all of the snappy comments dancing on her tongue. What time is it? They haven’t even ordered their food yet. 

“So where are you from?” He asks. 

“Montana,” she answers. He goes on to tell her all about his recent hiking trip to Montana for his brother Matthew’s bachelor party. 

_ Oh no _ . 

Kelly is dating this guy? She’s the  _ other woman _ . Does she know? Should she tell her? 

The waiter, thankfully, returns with their wine and asks if they’re ready to order. Omera opens her mouth to order a chicken dish that she couldn’t pronounce when Mark interrupts her  _ again.  _

“I promise the seafood here is positively  _ devine _ .” He vows while he tells the waiter what she will be ordering for dinner that evening. 

Maybe there will be pizza left over when she gets back. 

“So what do you do?” She asks as she sips the  _ positively _ dry white wine. If possible, it makes her even more thirsty. 

She doesn’t think she’s met anyone more capable of talking about themselves. He tells her all about his fancy law firm and this client who raped his wife, but that’s not  _ actually  _ assault. Not when they’re married. 

“Actually, if no consent is given - it’s still rape,” Omera says. 

“It’s nice to hear you have opinions,” and he plows through to more about  _ himself _ . 

Omera groans and checks the time on her phone. 

“Hold on I have to take this,” he stands up and answers his phone. 

Nice to hear that she has opinions? She’s hardly uttered a single word all night. This is stupid. She texts Din. 

_ How is Winta doing? _

His only response is a picture of her covered in flour while they attempt to bake cookies. She smiles. Of course they’re at home baking cookies. Winta has been bothering her all week about baking; apparently, she was able to turn her puppy eyes on Din to get her way. 

When Mark returns he apologizes for being on the phone. Apparently another one of his clients is having issues. The client recently embezzled several thousand dollars and Mark is working on a way to get them out from being charged with anything. Omera grimaces and thinks about how Din’s whole life is dedicated to putting people away for crimes while this slimeball tries to get them off the hook.

“So do you have any kids?” She asks, and pushes her escargot from one side of her plate to another. She is not interested in this at all, but Mark had  _ insisted _ . 

“Oh no. Thank  _ GOD _ . I couldn’t handle a bunch of little brats all day.” 

“Oh,” she says in response. He doesn’t bother returning the question, but instead talks about how his sister dropped out of law school and is now a professor instead. 

“After all, those who can’t, teach. Am I right?” He laughs and Omera clenches her fists, trying not to lean across the table and smack him. “Anyway. I’m being so rude.”

_ Understatement of the  _ year _.  _

“What do you do?” He asks just as the main dishes are being deposited. 

“I’m a teacher.”

“Oh.”

~

The date was horrendous. She really tried to tough it out to the end, but after he excused himself for the sixth time to take a phone call, when he returned she acted as if she was on the phone. With all the dignity she could muster after being insulted almost all night, she left under the pretense that her daughter had suddenly caught a stomach bug. He had tried to insist that her daughter would be fine, but Omera was already rising from the table and fleeing the scene - leaving him with the check. If he was going to be a dick all night, the least he could do is pay for dinner with his expensive lawyer’s salary. 

It is 10:00 when she pulls into her driveway. Not even bothering to change, she goes over to Din’s and knocks on the door. 

He pulls it open, looking incredibly comfortable. His dark brown hair is askew and he is wearing navy pajamas and a grey FBI hoodie - something she envies as her shoes pinch her toes and her bra digs into her back. “Oh. Hey. I wasn’t expecting you so early.”

“Din, that was an absolute disaster. Have you ever been on a blind date?”

Stepping aside to let her in, he shakes his head.

“Well I don’t recommend it, it was awful.” She pulls off her heels and pads into his living room, falling onto his couch. 

“Anything I can do to make it better?” He stands a few feet away from her, his hands hanging helplessly by his sides. 

“Do you have any food?”

He scoffs. “Do I have any food? What are you in the mood for? I have left over cheese pizza, enough applesauce to choke a horse, sandwich materials, and - if you ask nicely - I might break into my ice cream reserves.”

She sits up straighter. “Ice cream?”

He wags his eyebrows. “It’s the good stuff. Ben and Jerry’s with brownie chunks and everything.”

She giggles and gets up off the couch, “Okay let’s go.” The despair from the crappy date is already fading. She darts into his kitchen, her bare feet pitter-patting followed by the sound of his low, rumbling laugh and him racing after her. He digs through his freezer to find the ice cream while she pulls out a piece of pizza from a box left on the stove. 

He emerges with a tub of ice cream and two spoons. “So how bad was the date? Do I need to get the second tub?” He asks. 

“We might. He said ‘those who can’t teach’.” She rolls her eyes.

He winces. “We’ll start slow, but I have a feeling we’ll need the second tub.”

“And he said it was nice that I had opinions.”

He stops what he is doing, turns, and wordlessly fetches the second tub. “Who  _ was  _ this guy?” 

“Some lawyer,  _ Mark _ . Did you know,” she digs the spoon into the bin and groans when the sweetness hits her tongue. “Did you know that his suit cost more than what I make in a month? A whole month, Din. Wasted on a  _ suit _ .”

He nods and digs his spoon in next to the hole she made. “Want to take this to the couch?” He asks. 

She nods and follows him back into the living room. “I really thought that I could do this. Go back to dating. It was terrible.”

He nods. “Well at least you don’t have to see him again.”

Relief washes over her. It’s true. “That’s… actually a really comforting thought.”

They sit and eat out of the tub of ice cream until it is gone and she sighs. “I should probably go home.”

“Winta is already asleep, she can just stay here…” he trails off and takes a deep breath. “Do you - uh - would you want to stay and watch a movie? You don’t have to, uh, I know you just had a pretty bad night.”

She arches an eyebrow. “What  _ kind _ of movie?” She would be lying to herself if she said that relaxing and watching a movie with Din didn’t sound amazing - because it does. He has this way of melting away all of her stress and the longer she stays here, the less Mark’s words affect her. 

He laughs. “Nothing Disney related.”

“Deal.”

He gets up, grabs the remote, and turns to look at her. His eyebrows furrow and she’s about to ask if there is something on her face when he asks, “Are you… uh… do you want something else to wear? That, uh, doesn’t look very comfortable.” He looks directly at his feet and blushes. 

She pauses, her stomach flutters and her mind starts racing. Earlier this evening, she had watched Mark sit across the table and gawk at her. Now, she sits across from Din and he just wants her to be  _ comfortable _ . He wants her to be herself, not some fancy lady at a French restaurant. “That… would be very nice,” she rasps, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. In so many ways, every man she has ever been around has always expected her to be  _ something _ . Din just wants her to be  _ herself  _ and the idea is so refreshing she is left with this overwhelming sense of peace. 

He returns with a stack of blankets and comfy clothes. “I uh… brought you a few things to pick from.” He holds out sweats, pajama pants, a hoodie and a t-shirt. 

She smiles. “Thank you so much.”

He nods and she gets up to change in his bathroom. It’s just a half-bath, simple and painted a warm tan color with burgundy hand towels. For some reason it makes her smile and she thinks about how she can see little bits of his personality throughout his home now. She has gotten to know him so well over the past seven months that she thinks she had been blind to not have noticed it. He doesn’t outwardly express much about himself; of course, his emotions are displayed on his face like a billboard, but he doesn’t exactly go around expressing the little things. 

Like his favorite color is red. She sees it everywhere now and not just in his home. His flannels often feature a warm color and the gloves he wears when he is working on the truck have orange finger tips. 

His mother’s house always smelled of cinnamon. He drinks cinnamon in his coffee. On the side table in his living room is an apple cinnamon candle - it is seldom lit, but it sits there anyway, a small piece of his childhood that no one would notice, but him.

The only thing he remembers about his birth father is the way his hugs felt. He had described them as bone-crushing, but safe. When Din gives hugs, they are whispers of what his father had done for him as a young boy. When Din wraps his arms around her, she feels inexplicably safe - like the world could crumble around them and no harm would come to her. In Din’s arms she feels loved and she loves being there. She loves being with him. She loves him. 

_ No. _

She squashes that thought down as she pulls his hoodie over her head. It’s about two sizes too big and she relishes in the smell of him. She squashes those thoughts down too. It’s been eight months since David died. 

Eight months. 

What kind of wife was she if she is already moving on? 

With a sigh, she emerges from the bathroom and finds him scrolling through Netflix with his feet propped up on the coffee table. She stands there for a moment and takes him in. He’s so gorgeous. It feels silly thinking that, but there he is. Her very best friend. A smile blooms on her lips and before she can wipe away the dopey look on her face, he looks up at her. 

“Better?” He asks and his lips quirk up. 

She could kiss that smirk off his face. “Much. Thank you again, for everything. I needed this.”

He pats the cushion next to him - the cushions are missing off of the back of the couch, but he has replaced them with pillows from his bed. “No problem. What convinced you to go out?” He asks, still scrolling. 

She sits next to him and folds her legs underneath of her. “I don’t know. Kelly just asked me at a moment of weakness, I suppose.”

He nods. “The last time I went on a date the woman turned out to be a criminal, Cara won’t ever let me live it down.” 

“No. Really?”

He nods. “Yeah… What about this one? I’ve heard some guys talking about it in the office.”

“Sure,” she agrees and he presses play. She gets up and turns off the light. For a brief moment, while the show buffers, all that can be heard is their steady breathing and Omera closes her eyes. She feels at peace. 

When the show finally starts, she snatches a blanket and settles in, curling up into his side. He tenses at first, she can feel as all the muscles in his back constrict. Then, to her surprise, he folds his arm around her. A wave of calming warmth washes over her and she nestles impossibly closer. He is safe. He is warm. 

Din starts running his fingers through her hair and she sighs. He stops. “No, that feels good,” she mumbles, her eyes already beginning to flutter shut. 

He resumes carding his fingers through her hair and she drifts to sleep, at peace for the first time since she can remember. 

~

“Momma!” Winta jumps up on the couch, narrowly missing Din’s crotch. He jolts with a soft groan as her knee digs into his bladder instead. The not-so-small child fumbles across him to give her mom a hug. Din and Omera are laying down on the couch; Omera on her side, wedged between the back of the couch and Din, who is on his back with her head resting on his chest. “I didn’t know you were spending the night too!”

“Yeah, I guess it turned out that way.” She doesn’t want to get up and Winta is busy squeezing herself between the adults. 

“Where’s Diego?” Din asks, blinking the sleep from his eyes. 

“Oh,” Winta sits up. “I’ll be right back.” She jumps up, again kneeing Din’s bladder.

They are now facing each other on the couch and she smiles up at him. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” he stifles a yawn. “Did you sleep okay?”

She nods. “Best sleep I’ve gotten in a long time.”

“Same,” he murmurs. 

Then Winta is back, climbing on the couch carefully with Diego in her arms. “We should have family sleepovers more often,” she states as she falls backwards between the two adults with Diego secured on her chest. 

The two adults look up at each other. 

“Can we make pancakes?” She asks followed by a soft coo from Diego. 

“I don’t see why not,” Din answers. 

“Yes!” 

Omera beams as she watches her daughter hand off Diego to his father and leap off the couch, this time without injuring her couch partner. Din looks happy and relaxed and she realizes, almost painfully, that she would give anything to wake up every morning and see this. 

“I suppose we should get up,” Din states and she notices, belatedly, that he had been staring at her as well. 

“Guys, come oooonnn! Pancakes!” Winta calls from the kitchen. 

“We’re coming! Patience!” Omera calls, not breaking eye contact with Din. 

He bites his bottom lip and Omera’s stomach flips.  _ Kiss me _ .  _ Kiss me _ . 

He blinks and gets up from the couch. He arranges Diego on his hip and offers Omera his hand. Accepting his hand, she is pulled up to his side. She sucks in a breath and they stand there. Nothing separates them and the air around them practically vibrates. 

“Should we put blueberries in our pancakes again?” Winta chirps, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. 

Din clears his throat and steps away. “Blueberries, sprinkles, chocolate chips. I have it all,” he says. 

“Yes!” She darts back into the kitchen. 

Omera tries not to let her heart sink at the sudden lack of his proximity. 

~

Din gets all the ingredients out and starts warming up his griddle. Meanwhile, Omera - just as at home in his kitchen as she is in her own - gently rests her hand on his back as she reaches around him for a whisk. When she moves her hand, he feels cold at the lack of her touch. His stomach churns with a mixture of emotions. Last night - hell, even this morning - had been perfect. He would do almost anything to wake up with her on his chest every morning for the rest of his life. He loves this little family he has, even if two of the members aren’t  _ actually _ his family. He loves Omera and he loves her daughter. 

He nearly drops the spatula. 

He  _ loves  _ them. 

He  _ loves  _ Omera.

This is wrong. This is so wrong. 

He glances at Omera and she smiles before quickly looking away. Maybe… Maybe he can love her as just a friend. He loves Cara right? He has loved her for a long time. 

But he has also never wanted to carry Cara up his stairs and worship her thoroughly, either. 

No. 

Omera had said last night that she wasn’t ready for dating. No. He  _ loves _ her. He loves her so much that if she wants to stay just friends - and hopefully she does after last night - then he will do so. He will do anything for her. He looks up at her again and they share a smile, even if he did just catch her staring. 

Maybe they can grow into something more if he’s lucky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soo much for reading! We are finally reaching the actual Mandomera content! Cuddles and kisses are imminent!


	13. A Change of Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omera tries to distance herself due to a rising guilt of falling in love with Din. Din catches the leader of the Empire gang.

_ Dear Devout,  _

_ I’m so sorry to hear that you were so sick. Are you fully recovered? I feel that is necessary to remind you that this was not your fault. A drunk driver took my husband’s life, not you. If anything good has come from passing, it has been our correspondence. I feel crazy for saying this, but writing to you has made healing much easier. Even if our correspondence has not been regular, it has done wonders for me to know that my husband’s heart lays within a wonderful father - someone who cares as much for his child as my own husband had. Which reminds me, how is your son? My daughter has finally started intermediate school and I am equally pained and excited for the future. Children need to quit growing so quickly.  _

_ Kindly,  _

_ Optimistic _

_ Dear Optimistic,  _

_ Thankfully, yes, I have made a full recovery. I thank you for your kind words. I would be lying if I said that writing to you hasn’t helped me as well. Right after the heart replacement, I was racked with guilt. You have helped me overcome those emotions in ways that I will never be able to repay.  _

_ My son is doing well. He is finally talking. He recently said “dada” for the first time. I cried. I knew that being a father would come with many challenges, but I never considered the gifts of parenthood as well. There is something so beautiful about a child learning something new for the first time - a friend told me that and now I see it all the time. He lights up when he fits his puzzle pieces together and when he learns a new word. He recently learned ‘cat’ after he got spooked on a zoo trip.  _

_ How are you? How is your daughter?  _

_ It was good to hear from you,  _

_ Devout _

~

“Cara, I think I fucked up,” Din groans, tossing his phone on his desk and scrubbing his face with his hands. 

“Why?” 

He recounts The Night - the night where they fell asleep together, woke up together, and made pancakes together. It had felt like they were a family. He also recounts the past month where she has been artfully dodging all attempts at communication. If he wasn’t so concerned, he might have been impressed. What finally confirmed his utter despair, however, was this morning when he waved at her from his porch, she turned and got in her car without even acknowledging him. 

“Sounds like she’s giving you the cold shoulder,” Cara surmises as she takes a sip of her coffee. 

Din arches an eyebrow. “I’ve already reached that conclusion, thank you for your insight.”

“Hey, crabby pants, you’re the one whining about your girl problems. If you want a solution maybe you could, I don’t know, try talking to  _ her _ ? What makes you think I have any idea what’s going on in her head?”

“I don’t know. Women and stuff.”

Cara guffaws. “Women and stuff? Fuck Djarin, you’re lucky you’ve made it this far.”

He scowls. 

“Look, you want my honest advice? Invite her over to dinner. Call her. Talk to her. Maybe she has feelings for you or maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she’s worried she’s leading you on or maybe she’s worried that she’s moving too fast. You just have to talk to her.”

He nods. He might be able to do that. 

“Honestly Djarin, communication builds the foundation of a relationship. If you can’t talk, then you can’t do anything.”

He nods again, “Thanks.”

“You owe me a Chinese dinner, by the way,” she leans back in her chair. 

“What?”

“Where do you think I get all my sage wisdom from? Fortune cookies are amazing for helping idiots like you.”

“And here I thought you were just a good friend.”

“I am an excellent friend.”

He scoffs and goes back to scanning his satellite images of mountains in Virginia where the soil matches the soil taken from the tape of the recent victim. 

~

“Momma,” Winta walks beside her mom to their car in the school parking lot. 

“Yes, baby?”

“Can we have dinner with Din and Diego soon?”

Omera groans internally. She should have known a clean break would only confuse her daughter. “Why? Don’t you enjoy just my company anymore?” Omera tries to joke but it falls flat even to her own ears. 

Winta shrugs. “Well, I do. You’re cool, sometimes… I just… I wanted to ask Din if he and Diego could come trick-or-treating with us.”

Oh. 

“Well… I’m sure if I text him he may be able to do dinner soon.”

“Great! Tomorrow?”

“I’ll ask him.”

~

Omera stands in her bathroom, staring at his contact image in her phone. He’s so happy. So handsome. She has been pushing him away for her own benefit and she can’t imagine the pain she must be inflicting on him for her own selfish reasons. Sucking in a deep breath, she texts:  _ Hey _

His response is almost immediate.  _ Hey stranger _

She cringes. She has been acting like a stranger, she goes to text him back, but he is faster and says:  _ I’m really sorry if I did something wrong.  _

_ You didn’t… I’ve been struggling with… stuff _

_ Need to talk about it? _

_ I can’t ask that of you  _

_ You can ask anything of me. I’m your friend. I’ll always be here for you.  _

Tears well up in her eyes.  _ I don’t deserve a friendship like ours.  _

_ You’re right. You deserve so much better.  _

She can’t stand it. She calls him. 

“Are you alright?” He asks by greeting. 

“No,” she hiccups. 

“What? I’m coming over.”

“No. No it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad friend.”

“A bad friend? What? Never! Omera, I’ve been so worried about you. I thought… I thought maybe I crossed a line or hurt you. You, no. You’ve never been a bad friend. Don’t even think that.” 

“You didn’t. That night… I had a wonderful time.”

His voice sounds strangled, “Really?”

She nods, only to remember that he can’t see it. “Yeah,” she rasps. 

There’s a brief silence and her heart rate slowly increases as she imagines all the possible worst case scenarios from the rather bold statement she had just made. 

“Me too.”

She grins. He had a wonderful time too? She remembers him running his fingers through her hair. She remembers waking up on his chest and the endearing way his hair was even  _ more _ ruffled after sleeping. 

“Okay, good.”

“Yeah,” he says. She can see him shifting his weight back and forth and his head tilting to the side. 

“Um. Can we have dinner soon?”

“I’d love to.”

“Tomorrow?”

“We’ll be there.”

“Okay, good.”

“Okay.”

“I - I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah, I - uh yeah. See you tomorrow.”

She nearly tells him she loves him as she hangs up the phone. Because she does, she loves him. She doesn’t think she’s ready to say those things, to really  _ be _ in love with him, but there’s no denying those emotions anymore. He’s her best friend and the thought of losing him fills her with unfathomable dread. She hadn’t realized how empty she had been feeling until she was filled with the warmth of his voice on the other end of the line. Din is comfort and safety and  _ home _ . 

~

They have a hit. “Dune! Karga!” Din shoves out of his chair and into the conference room. “I have something,” he states when they look up from their breakfast. 

The next hour moves rapidly. They have them. They have the Empire hideout in the mountains and if they can get a team there as soon as possible, it’s possible they may be able to catch the leader - Gideon. 

“Let’s get a move on people! Tactical gear! This train is leaving in less than twenty minutes! Go! Go! Go!” Cara booms from the center of their office. “Briefing on the way! Let’s get going!” 

Din rushes into his locker and starts getting out of his suit and into his gear next to Karga and Iggy. Donning his armor, preparing for battle - Din tries not to let his stomach churn too much. He gets his gear on in less than a minute - they’ve trained to be able to do this in the dark, he can connect all the clasps with his eyes closed. He goes to close his locker and looks at the picture of him, Diego, Omera, and Winta from the fourth of July. He presses a kiss to two fingers and presses them to the picture. He jogs out of the locker room and to the armory with the boys behind him. Cara catches him in the hall. 

“I’m taking point,” she states as they move, falling perfectly in step with him. 

“No way, I’ve been after them for a long time. This is my collar.”

She grabs his elbow and they stop in the middle of the hall. Karga and Iggy keep moving, giving them as much privacy as a bickering couple can have in the middle of a hallway filled with teams scrambling for a raid. “No way. I’m not losing you again.”

“Cara, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, well I’m not,” she spits. 

He steps back. “What?”

“I’m not fine. I thought I was, but I’m not. I’m taking point. You can still have the collar. But I’m going to be the first one in that stupid bunker.” 

Slowly he nods. “If you feel that strongly about it, okay.”

She squeezes his forearm and he squeezes hers back.

~

Din climbs into the van with his team - Cara, Karga, Iggy and two other guys. Din is terrible with names, he really needs to try and be better at this. As they take off, he checks his watch and decides he is definitely going to need Omera to help him out on this one. 

_ Hey. Not going to be home in time to pick up Diego. Please pick him up for me. Thx. _

It sounds a little too much like a demand and less like a request - but he doesn’t have time to ask nicely, the van is already moving, the assault already in motion. 

He clutches his crucifix and he prays. 

~

Cara takes point. She leads their assault team silently up to the back door, they always take the back. Their job is retrieval, to collar the sick bastard who has been buying and selling children on the black market. They don’t charge through the front doors, guns ablazing, much to Cara’s dismay. 

“3.” 

Cara pushes her rifle further into her shoulder as Iggy preps the door. She can do this. She has to do this because she can’t let Din get hurt again. 

“2.”

Iggy looks to her and she gives him a brisk nod, squashing down her anxiety as she focuses on the last of the countdown. 

“1.”

The door blasts open and everyone is vaguely aware of the voice on their comms shouting, “Go! Go! Go!” 

~

With a sigh, Omera falls into her spot in the teacher’s lounge. She pulls out her lunch, a sad ham sandwich and a bag of carrot sticks. Retrieving her phone from the front pocket of her lunchbox, she smiles to see a text from Din. Her face falls, though, at the militaristic read of the text. Has he suddenly changed his mind about their friendship? Probably for the best, considering she was experiencing much more than platonic feelings for him. 

Suddenly the T.V chimes and, on barely audible volume, she hears the announcement of breaking news. Glancing up from her phone, the headline is the first thing that catches her attention. 

_ FBI Raids Empire Hideout _

“Turn it up!” Omera demands, lunch and phone immediately forgotten. 

Someone does, she doesn’t know who, but suddenly there is volume. “We’re coming to you live as the FBI raids a supposed Empire gang hideout.” The T.V announcer states as the camera, clearly a shot from a helicopter, circles overhead. She can see figures in tactical gear, their backs clearly emblazoned with a bright yellow FBI acronym and she desperately searches for Din in the crowd. Crashing down into her seat, she clasps her hands together and she prays. 

~

Cara twists and slams the butt of her rifle into a perp’s chin as he rounds the corner. Using hand signals, she tells her team to split up. Her and Din move together like they always have - in complete unison. She eases around a corner; this place is a maze - hallways upon hallways of rooms. She wants to break them all down and free the victims, but they don’t have time. They’re here for Gideon. 

They wind around another corner and Cara holds up a sign for ‘halt’. Din freezes and she turns her head to give a short, quick nod. He snaps his silencer on his rifle and peers around her to the perp guarding a door. 

Headshot. 

He whips back around the corner and they nod. One down, however many more guards Gideon will have waiting for them. They can hear the chatter over the com and someone cries out for a medic. 

Cara shakes her head and tries not to think of her tours in Afghanistan. Din presses his hand to her elbow and she nods. She’s alright. She knows what is at stake. They press forward.

~

Omera goes back into her classroom and is riddled with stress. She pulls up the live stream on her computer and stands there, staring at the computer screen, hand clutched over her mouth with white knuckles. She can barely breathe. This can’t be happening. Not right now. Not when she had hopes of finally fixing their friendship. She had listened to him talk about how dangerous the Empire was, that they weren’t the type to ask questions first. 

How cruel would the universe be if it took Din from her just as she had come to count on him as a constant?

“Mrs. Avidan? Are you okay?” Henrietta asks. 

Omera is drawn away from her worst nightmare and looks at the little girl standing at her desk. Her jet black hair is pinned up into two little poufs on the top of her head. 

“Yes, I’m sorry sweetie. Everyone get out your history books,” Omera announces. “Turn to page 45.”

~

Din and Cara clear room after room, yet they aren’t any closer to finding him. Intel said he stayed close to the center of the facility, but the rooms had either been empty or with screaming women and children in them. It was enough to make Din nauseous. 

“Contact! We have contact!” He hears an agent yell and then he hears the tail end of gunfire. 

“What is your position?” Din barks into the comm. 

They hear pops of gunfire through the comm before a response comes through, “Center of facility, close to eastern wall.” More gunfire pops through. “Parr! Fuck! Djarin, bring a medic!”

He and Cara look at each other. There is no time for a medic, not if one agent is already down. They both bolt off to the coordinates of their fellow agent, if they happen to encounter a few gang members along the way - Cara knocks them around and Din finishes them off, most of the time with a quick elbow or fist to the temple. 

The gunshots are audible without the agent’s comm and they swiftly move into the room where they can clearly see the agent under fire taking cover behind some metal crates and Gideon. 

“Come out and play, agent!” Gideon taunts, pacing back and forth out in the open. He must be pretty cocky. Din lines up his scope to take a shot. 

“This is Agent Dune, we have a visual. Permission to fire?” Cara moves the comm closer to her mouth. 

“Negative. We take him alive.”

“Fuck,” she hisses. 

She and Din share a look. “I’m going in,” she declares. 

“No,” he protests. 

“You’re already lined up for the shot. I know you’ve got my six.”

“First sign of something bad, I’m taking it. Be ready,” he says and she nods. 

Cara moves away from Din’s position and heads in through a different entrance as to not give him away. “FBI! Don’t move!” She bellows as she enters, rifle ready to take Gideon down. 

Gideon just smirks and swaggers a little closer. 

Din smirks, that is probably the stupidest decision Gideon could make. Cara is at her most dangerous within swinging distance and Gideon is toeing that line. “Where’s your partner? Aren’t most agents incapable of travelling alone?”

“I’m sure you’d be pleased to know that one of your goons got the drop on him.”

He laughs. “That is pleasing. Almost as pleasing as your demise will be.”

Cara scoffs. “You’re under arrest, Gideon. Put your hands where I can see ‘em.”

He does and in his hand is a detonator. 

_ For fuck’s sake _ . 

Din can feel the shrapnel piercing his chest, flying back with the concussive boom. Blinking the sensation away, he focuses on Gideon’s hand. He can take the shot. Gideon will lose his hand and Cara can cuff him. 

“Oh so you’re going to blow us all up?” She taunts. 

Gideon holds out the detonator with his thumb dancing across the button. “Oh no. I’ll be fine. All your people outside though… well.” He shrugs. “It will no doubt be a catastrophic loss for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Cara readjusts her grip. She’s thinking about it. She’s thinking about if she can shoot him before he squeezes. She takes a step closer and Din can tell she’s debating between shooting or lunging. 

Gideon steps away from her. 

“How about we play a game? I’m going to walk out of here, to my helicopter and you’re going to let me go lest I blow up every innocent bystander in a mile radius. How about that?”

Din takes a deep breath and checks the line up of his shot in the scope. He doesn’t want to hit the detonator, it could still trigger the explosions. However, if he hits his wrist - if he doesn’t lose his hand he would most definitely let go of the detonator. 

Or he would squeeze it and they would lose everyone anyway. 

Din studies Cara and re-shoulders her blaster, and ever so slightly nods. 

She wants him to take the shot. 

He takes another deep breath and makes sure everything is exactly in line. He has one shot. 

“So what’s it going to be, Agent Dune?” Gideon sneers. 

“I hope you can do things left-handed,” she says and the shot rings out. 

Gideon howls and Cara dives forward, clutching the blood and tissue-covered detonator before it hits the ground. Din darts out from behind his nest and flips Gideon on his back, pressing his knee against his back. “You’re going to prison for a long time, Gideon.” Din growls. 

He doesn’t say much, but blubber. His hand is barely hanging on and Din isn’t gentle about putting cuffs on him either. 

“We have secured the target,” Cara sighs into the comm. “We need Medical stat. Two wounded agents.”

“We’re on our way to you.”

Din and Cara share a look and they nod. They did it. 

They took down the Empire. 

~

Omera bursts into the house and turns on the T.V. 

“Momma, what’s wrong?” Winta asks, hurrying in behind her. 

“Shh,” Omera hushes as she watches the headline. 

_ Empire Raid Still in Progress _

“What’s the Empire?” Winta asks, sitting on the floor with an equally clueless Diego. 

“Coming to you live with feed from the Empire raid where the supposed gang leader Gideon is hiding. So far we have reports of 4 dead FBI agents.” The news reporter holds down her earpiece. “I’m sorry we are reporting 5 dead FBI agents and 4 wounded. One is in critical condition.”

Omera smacks her hand over her mouth to keep from moaning. No. No. No. No. 

This isn’t happening. 

“Momma,” Winta’s voice sounds terrified causing her to finally break away from the screen. 

“What baby?” 

“Doesn’t Din work for the FBI?” 

All Omera can do is nod. 

Tears immediately fill and spill over in Winta’s eyes and she clutches Diego to her chest. “Mommy I don’t want Din to die.”

Omera falls onto the carpet with her. “He’s not going to, remember? He says he’s always safe.” 

She feels like she’s lying. 

Winta hiccups and curls into her chest. “I don’t want him to die too, mommy.”

“I know baby,” Omera rubs her hands up and down her back. “I know.”

~

“Karga!” Din and Cara rush up to their friend. They had turned Gideon over to the med-evac where they were going to  _ try _ and save his hand. It didn’t look good though. Din is one hell of a shot. 

“Hey guys,” Karga gives his signature smile and tries to sit up, only to be pushed down by the medic. 

“What the hell happened?” Cara asks. 

“Took a shot to the chest. Vest caught it, but I still have two broken ribs. Doc here is insisting I go to the hospital,” Karga shoves his thumb at the perturbed medic. 

Din takes up his hand. “Glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah… don’t know where they took Ig off to, though. I saw him get burned up pretty bad. What gang uses flamethrowers?”

“What the fuck?” Cara asks. 

“That’s what I said.”

“Alright, Agent,” the medic announces. “Time to get you out of here.”

“If I have to stay, y’all will bring me food, right? You know I love a double-cheeseburger. No lettuce. I don’t need that green shit all up on my burger.”

Din chuckles. “Yeah we’ll take care of you.”

Din and Cara move through the throng of agents checking up on their friends and earning celebratory claps on the back. 

They had just taken down the Empire. 

~

They sit with a now cold pizza on the floor, watching the news. “We’re now reporting 5 dead agents, 8 wounded.”

Omera squeezes her daughter impossibly closer. 

He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay. 

~

Din and Cara stumble into the office. It’s nearly 11 p.m and while that wasn’t terribly late, they had pulled crazy hours all week and were just in a high stress environment. Din grabs his duffle bag from his locker and meets his partner out in the hall. 

“Wanna grab a drink?” She asks. 

“Raincheck. I’m exhausted.”

“What a little action finally getting to you, old man?” she chortles and elbows him. 

“Not that old, thanks. No, Omera has Diego. I want to go home and be with them for a little while.”

She nods. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind going home and making love to a woman either.”

Din glares at her. 

“What? Nothing like some post-raid sex.”

He huffs. “You’re impossible.”

“Djarin,” She calls and he turns around. “Thanks. That was one hell of a shot.”

He nods. “No problem. Guess you’re just finally going to have to admit that Marines make better shots than the Army.”

“Watch it Djarin, I’ll still kick your ass.”

“Not if I shoot you first.” 

She runs up to him, putting him in a headlock. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“But I’m your favorite pain in the ass,” he quips as he taps against her arm. 

~

She is dozing on the floor with Winta when she thinks she hears the truck pull up. A while ago, before she had decided that pushing him away had been a good idea, he had mentioned how he needed to repair a hole in his muffler. The engine cuts off and Omera eases herself up, telling herself not to get her hopes up. 

“Momma?” Winta blinks awake. 

Omera pushes the curtain away. Her knees nearly buckle right then and there. He’s home. 

“Is that him?” Winta sits up, fully awake now. 

Omera nods and Winta leaps up, consequentially waking up Diego. Omera scoops up the boy and follows the hot trail her daughter had torn to get out of the house. “Din!” The little girl cries, jumping off of their porch and barreling toward him. Dropping his duffle, he falls to his knees and accepts her in a hug that nearly knocks him over. Omera darts down the stairs and into the grass with her family. 

“I was so scared, the news - the news,” Winta hiccups. 

He hushes her, brushing down her hair and whispers. “It’s okay. I was never in danger. I’m okay.”

Omera doubts that, considering he’s still wearing bulletproof gear, but she falls onto her knees with them anyway. He untangles one arm from Winta and accepts Diego. Then, in a moment of blinding self-indulgence, Omera throws her arms around him. “We saw on the news,” she whispers into his ear. “5 agents dead, 8 wounded. We thought… It could...” She doesn’t finish the thought and pulls her little family closer. 

Smashed against Din’s armor, Winta mumbles. “Too tight, guys. Too tight.”

Omera and Din both fall back. 

“Can we have a family sleepover? With a blanket fort?” Winta asks, peering up at Din.

“If it’s okay with your mom,” he answers. 

Winta looks to her. 

“Take Diego inside. It’s too cold out here for both of you. Get the blankets from the closet and start construction, foreman.”

Winta grins and, with Diego in her arms, darts back up to the house. 

Omera throws her arms around his neck and squeezes herself impossibly closer to him. “I was so scared I’d lost you.” She whispers. 

He squeezes her tighter and she wants to rip off his gear, she wants to feel him, warm, soft, and alive. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. One of his arms wraps around her waist and the other snakes up to the back of her head. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She pulls away and holds his face in between her hands. For a moment she thinks she might kiss him, then she presses her forehead to his. “Stay.”

His hands gently cover hers and he murmurs, “Okay.”

~

Din lays on his back with one arm tucked under his head and his son drooling on his chest. To his right, Winta is sprawled out on her stomach, holding his other arm hostage. On the other side of Winta, Omera is curled up on her side, watching them intently. He turns his head over, and their eyes lock. She looks exhausted. 

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. 

“I’m not used to this,” she whispers and gestures vaguely with her hand. 

He’s silent for a moment and says. “Me neither. I… I’ve never had anyone to notify that I was okay. I should have called you, I’m sorry.”

She smiles softly and draws small circles over the palm of his hand. For a second he is nervous like he was when he held Diego for the first time. His hands are rough from years of manual labor. His index finger has a callous from the amount of times he has pulled a trigger. But then he sees her face, really  _ sees _ her, and all of that fear washes away. She doesn’t care about his worn hands, she cares that he’s here - alive. “You don’t have to apologize. I… Next time, I won’t watch the news. It had come on while I was in the teacher’s lounge at work and… Din I don’t think I’ve been so scared in my entire life.”

“Why?” He whispers incredulously. This is a woman who took her husband off of life support, who has been through more in the past year that he couldn’t ever imagine overcoming. 

“Because… I thought you would die without knowing how much I care for you, like David,” tears well up in her eyes and she quickly blinks them back. His heart pounds in his throat. How much she cares for him? 

Does she love him? 

This, this could very well be one of the best days of his life. 

“How much you care for me?” His voice cracks and he isn’t embarrassed. 

She nods and runs her fingers down his fingers. He tries to focus, but the trail her touch leaves behind feels like molten lava. “I can’t imagine my life without you anymore. I…” she trails off. “I feel like I’m betraying David… like I’m abandoning everything we ever had. I wasn’t  _ unhappy _ with David… but,” she sighs. “Din you have shown me how beautiful the world can be. The happiness I feel when I’m with you… I’ve never felt before in my entire life. I didn’t realize I felt this way until I stopped talking to you for a while. I care for you so much. You’re my best friend.”

“You’re mine too,” he murmurs and curls his nearly asleep fingers around hers. “You… Omera you make me so happy.”

She beams and then her brow crinkles. “I’m not terrible for feeling this way, am I?”

His eyebrows mimic hers and he takes a moment to answer. “You aren’t betraying David. You never could. What you two had was… special, meaningful.”

She nods. “This feels different.”

“Why’s that?” he whispers. 

“Because now everything is warm, bright, and happy. I have the two best boys in the whole world.”

He grins, “And I have the two best girls.”

He could kiss her; he really wants to, but he has two children fast asleep and he doesn’t dare wake them. Instead, she leans up and presses a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m glad you’re home and safe.”

“Me too,” he whispers. 

She leaves another soft kiss on his tingling palm and he could die. Her lips are warm and indescribably soft. With that, she curls impossibly closer, folding her body around her daughter so that her feet brush against his calves and her neck rests over top of his hand. Carefully, moves his finger so that he can caress the nape of her neck. 

They fall asleep, a pile of limbs on the floor, children drooling all over them. 

~

When they wake in the morning, it feels natural. Din wakes up first; he has always been a morning person. He gets up, with only small protests from the sleeping children and puts a pot of coffee on. Omera joins him slightly after, her long hair matted on side from sleep and on the other puffed out. 

“Good morning,” she greets. 

He turns and smiles, “Good morning.”

“I’m sorry, I must look awful,” she apologizes and haphazardly runs her fingers through her hair. 

He pulls her close and kisses her tentatively on her cheek. “I still think you look gorgeous.”

A small sense of pride washes over him when a blush colors her cheeks. She runs her hands down his arms and intertwines their fingers. “Winta had wanted to know if you wanted to go trick-or-treating with us.”

“We’d love to. I’ve been trying to think of a costume for Diego. I think he’d be a great pumpkin.”

Omera chuckles and brings their hands up so they rest between their chests. She presses gentle kisses to his knuckles. “I think Winta had said something about going as Tinkerbell. I was going to dress as Wendy.”

His face blanches. “Does this mean I get to be Peter Pan?”

She grins. “I think you would make an excellent Peter Pan.”

He sighs. “The things we do for children.”

_ Our children _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all soooo much for reading! I hope this chapter is satisfactory, it was super hard to write!


	14. Grateful for Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Omera celebrate Thanksgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update! I'm not super happy with this chapter, but it is, of course, filled with lots of family fluff! I hope you enjoy it!! <3 <3

“Hey, are you still down for the Dune Family Thanksgiving? Or are you and Omera doing something?” Cara asks him as he re-racks the weights and stretches his chest muscles. 

“I dunno. If we’re doing something, she hasn’t said anything to me.”

Cara eases the weights back down to him and he does another set of fifteen. Cara has always been much better at lifting than him. Despite his handful of years in the Marine Corps, Din has never been a particularly _beefy_ guy. His expertise has always been long range shooting and running. Sure, he can carry a fallen soldier, but don’t ask him to perform three sets of fifteen chest presses. He wants to die already. 

Helping him rerack, Cara asks, “Why don’t you invite her?”

“Invite her?” He sputters. 

“Yeah. She’s practically family. I mean she has a key to your house. Plus you two have been getting friendlier. Just invite her over.”

“I don’t know, she has Winta.”

“So? You have Diego.”

“Yeah and he has already said ‘fuck’ thanks to you.”

“Hey, I still plead the fifth. Plenty of the people you hang out with curse like sailors. I don’t see why I’m being blamed here.”

He tilts his head to the side and stares at her. 

“Okay, so ‘fuck’ happens to be one my favorite words. It just so happens it is also one of the most interesting words in the English language. I mean, it can split other words in half. ‘Fan-fucking-tastic’. Give me another word that can do that.”

“Cara, ‘fuck’ is not an appropriate word for a two-year old.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “I’ll keep it PG-13 if you bring your sexy side piece and kids.”

He sighs and gets up, letting her lay down on the bench. “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll make sure I talk you up the whole time.”

“I don’t know if I want that.”

“I’ll make sure I tell her about your massive -”

He drops the bar on her and her sentence is cut off with a harsh exhale. Cara had waltzed into the men’s showers in order to yell at him when they first became partners. She had seen everything God gave him and she has never let him forget it. After that, they had had a very firm conversation about boundaries. 

“I said I’ll talk about it, Dune.” 

She nods and lifts the weights. 

~

_Dear Devout,_

_As the holiday season comes around, I find myself feeling empty. This will be my first Thanksgiving without D and I am lost. What am I supposed to do? My daughter and I have no family, both he and I lost our families at a very young age. I am dreading Christmas. While D wasn’t always around for Thanksgiving, he was_ always _around for Christmas. It was the most important holiday for both of us. I used to love Christmas morning, he would make the most dreadful scrambled eggs and we would watch silly Christmas cartoons while our daughter cuddled us on the couch. The thought of waking up without him is one of the worst pains I can imagine._

_I’m sorry for such a dreadfully pessimistic letter, but I’m in a dark place right now. I don’t know who else to talk to, who else would understand. I hope you are doing well this holiday season._

_Kindly,_

_Optimistic_

_Dear Optimistic,_

_I wish I could take all of your pain away. I lost both of my parents when I was very young, and I can only relate to your daughter’s pain. The best advice I have to give is to remember him in every way possible. As for you, Optimistic, I wish I could give better advice. I’ve never been married and I don’t know the pain of losing a spouse. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to know. I do know, though, that you are an incredibly strong woman. If you can make it through this, you can make it through anything. During this time, remember the joy you had with him. I know there will be pain there too, but it’s okay to cry. Crying just means that you’re human, it’s not a weakness. So, if you and your daughter want to cry because he’s not there - do it. Just remember that he would want you to be happy too, so don’t let this holiday season be too melancholy. After all, I’m sure your husband would want you to find some peace._

_Wishing you the best,_

_Devout_

~

Din and Omera rake the leaves in her back yard onto a tarp so that he can pull them around to the front of her house for pick up. 

“Cannon ball!” Winta shouts as she barrels and jumps into the pile, effectively ruining all of their hard work. 

Following shortly behind her, Diego tottles head first into the pile. 

Omera sighs in exasperation. “Winta, come on, we need to drag these around front.”

“But _leaves_ ,” Winta protests, making a leaf angel. 

“Come on, baby, get up.”

Winta shakes her head. 

“Well if you’re not going to get up, I guess we’ll just have to drag you to the curb with the leaves,” Din threatens. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Winta retorts. 

Din and Omera share a look before they both take up a corner of the tarp and start running. They know that this was supposed to be a threat, but when both children start laughing and asking to go again, they oblige. 

~

_Dear Devout,_

_Your words bring some peace. What are you and your son doing this holiday season? I’m thinking about maybe baking with my daughter. That seems to always liven the festivities._

_Sincerely,_

_Optimistic_

_Dear Optimistic,_

_I have a pretty good recipe for apple pie. It was my mother’s. Please find it attached to this email. Baking is always fun, unfortunately I’m terrible at it. After living my entire adulthood as a bachelor, I have found that I have two specialties: pancakes and spaghetti. My culinary skills are only classified as edible after that. For the holidays we typically go over to my friend’s house. Since I have no family in the area either, I have opted to creating a sort of family of my own, consisting of neighbors and coworkers. If you’d like, you can come along to our found-family get-together._

_Kindly,_

_Devout_

~

Banana bread bakes in the oven, filling her home with its warm smell. Din comes from her kitchen, holding two cups of coffee, and sits next to her on the couch. Winta and Diego are in her room playing, giving the adults a small reprieve to recaffeinate. 

“Any plans for Thanksgiving?” Din asks. Omera is sitting on the other side of the couch and tucks her icy toes under his thighs. 

“No… not really.” Her eyes glaze over and he knows she’s thinking about what Thanksgiving had been for her a year ago. 

“Hey.” She looks up at him. “Are you doing okay?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just… very aware that he isn’t here.”

Din nods and rubs her calf, just above her ankle. “I… don’t know if… well…” he sighs. Words are hard sometimes. Everything feels so easy and complicated at the time. He and Omera have been moving slowly, something he has absolutely no problems with; however, he finds himself struggling to push their relationship further. Physical affection comes easily, conversations even easier. But inviting her to his family get-together feels like he is trying to force himself into the spot that their family had created for David, and that is the exact opposite of what he wants. “Cara hosts Thanksgiving every year and wanted to know if you would like to come this year.” The words rush out of his mouth and he runs a hand through his hair nervously. 

“Cara wants to know?” A small smile turns the edges of her lips upward. 

He blushes. “Well… I want to know too.”

She smiles in earnest and nods. “I think that sounds very lovely. Is there anything I should bring?”

“You can never go wrong with pie.”

“Great, I just got a new recipe for apple pie.”

He grins. “That’s my favorite.”

She wiggles her toes underneath him. “I know.”

~

_Dear Devout,_

_I couldn't possibly impose, but I thank you kindly for the invitation. I think maybe we should try and get together after the holidays. I would love to meet you in person. You’ve been so kind to me over the past year._

_Sincerely,_

_Optimistic_

_Dear Optimistic,_

_I would love that._

_Devout_

~

Omera follows Din through the door of Cara’s apartment and is overwhelmed already by the shouting and smell of spices. “Din!” Tiffany exclaims, rushing up to give him a hug. “And my favorite chunk!” She scoops Diego out of his arms. “Omera! I’m so glad you were able to make it!” Omera quickly finds herself wrapped up in Tiffany’s warm embrace. “Okay, so kitchen is this way, you can put the pie on the counter. Everyone is already out in the living room. Oh and we have wine and beer in the fridge. Help yourself,” she swooshes away with her godson and goes to where Omera assumes is the living room. 

“Welcome to the crazy,” Din murmurs in her ear just as more shouts erupt from the living room. 

Feeling suddenly very anxious, Omera follows Din into the kitchen and Winta follows her. Omera’s stomach churns with butterflies. This is Din’s family - the closest thing he has to family, anyway - and they are all gathered here together. Of course, she has met them all on different occasions, but this feels different. This feels like an invitation to be part of his family. 

“Want any wine?” Din asks, moving over to the refrigerator while Cara checks the oven. 

“I’d love some,” Omera sighs, trying to let the nervous energy flow out of her with the exhale. 

“Hey kid,” Cara nods at Winta. “I hear you’re like a culinary genius. You wanna test my potatoes?”

“Who said that?” Winta asks, slowly approaching from behind her mom. 

“Djarin - I mean, Din was talking you up the other day at work. He brought the cookies you guys made and they were delicious.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Cara helps Winta onto the counter and spoons her some potatoes. 

Winta scrunches up her nose. “I dunno.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Cara retorts, hand on her hip. 

“I think they need more salt. Mom, you go have fun. I’m going to stay here with Auntie Cara. She _really_ needs my help.” Winta says seriously, folding her arms across her chest. 

The nervous tension she was carrying relaxes at the sight of her daughter and Cara cooking together. It wouldn’t be hard for Winta to accept Cara as an aunt - she had never had one before. Having new family is exciting - even Omera’s stomach is bubbling with exciting new prospect of having a clan to call her own. 

“Well alright then,” Omera chuckles, mostly due to Cara’s shocked expression. Glass of wine in hand, Omera follows Din into the living room. The first person who notices their entrance is Karga. 

“Alright, Alright! People, we have a real lady in the house so if you could all refrain from swearing and or making crude jokes that would be great!” Karga announces to the living room packed with people she wasn’t expecting to recognize, but does. It is everyone from Din’s birthday party earlier this year, plus one other who she doesn’t recognize. “Omera, honey, how have you been?” He pulls her into a hug. 

Upon looking at him, she notices there is what appears to be a bullet hole in his vest he is wearing. “I’m doing great, Karga… May I inquire about your shirt?” She asks, motioning towards the aforementioned garment. 

“Ah yes! Din check this out! They let me keep the vest so I took it to a lady and she actually made this for me! Isn’t it dope?!”

Din arches an eyebrow. “Why would you want to run around with a bullet hole in your chest?”

Karga wags his eyebrows. “To impress the ladies.”

“Believe me Karga, women aren’t going to be impressed by your holey vest. They’re going to think you're crazy.” Tiffany calls from across the room, bouncing a happy Diego on her knees.

He shrugs. “To-may-to, To-mah-to.” He gives Omera one more pat on the elbow and returns to his spot on the couch by Iggy. 

As quietly as she can, she turns to Din and asks, “This is everyone?”

“Yeah, this is the family. We’ve been a team for,” he exhales. “About four years now. None of us have family around here so we just do holidays together. You know Iggy and Karga. Over there is Paz, he’s our boss. He doesn’t come to every get-together, but he never misses the holidays.”

“That’s really nice.”

He nods and takes a sip of his water, “Yeah. It’s nice to belong somewhere.”

Omera loops her pinky around his. It’s effortless, how she fits in here. She looks to his friends, his family and finds herself imagining them around more frequently - at Winta’s birthday parties, at Diego’s, at big school functions like band or choir concerts. If Winta picks up a sport, she can _easily_ see Cara and Tiff cheering from the sidelines. She can imagine Karga telling her, most likely exaggerated, tales from their adventures. Throughout all of it, the best part is imagining Din by her side, loving her and her daughter, supporting them through the trials of life. 

“Yeah it is,” Omera whispers. 

~

“Alright! Time for pie! Omera brought apple and Iggy brought pumpkin! Who wants what?” Cara bellows over the volume of the television. 

Nearly everyone cries out for both. 

Standing in the kitchen, Omera helps Cara cut and plate the slices. “I wanted to say thank you for inviting me today,” Omera begins as she spoons out some of her apple pie. 

“Of course. You’re practically family,” Cara says, scooping out the pumpkin and placing it next to the apple slice Omera has just cut. 

“That means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me too. Djarin is like my brother. I don’t think I need to give you the big sister talk,” Cara sets the pie scoop down. “But anyone who hurts him tends to end up regretting it.”

Omera swallows. “I understand, clearly those aren’t my intentions. Plus Winta adores him.”

“Yeah, it’s hard not to adore Djarin, the man is a fucking delight. I don’t think anyone I’ve ever met has ever said a bad word about him. He would literally take the shirt off his back to give it to someone who needed it more.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Omera smiles to herself. 

“Yeah. You know, one time, oh god this is hilarious. I left on vacation with Tiff and he was fish-sitting.” This makes Omera smile. “Now this was before Diego and the man had never taken care of another living thing in his life. He was so terrified. Always sent me pictures so that I knew the fish was still kicking. Omera it was a fucking ten cent gold fish I won at the fair. You would have thought it was one of those stupid show dogs on the t.v.”

Omera laughs. “If it makes you feel any better, he still sends pictures as updates. If he babysits Winta for me, he always sends me pictures of silly things they are doing together. Oh let me show you,” she pulls up her phone and shows her a picture of them painting one night when she had parent-teacher conferences. He’s taking a selfie, Winta cheesing next to him with a very paint-covered Diego in her lap. Behind them, on the kitchen table, are their paintings. Din has painted a very stereotypical house with bushes and trees while Winta has painted a series of beautiful flowers and Diego… Well, Diego is definitely an abstract artist. 

“You guys make him so happy,” Cara breathes. 

Omera looks at Cara, but she is still studying the picture. “He makes me happy too.”

“You know,” Cara hands her phone back. “I don’t believe in a lot of religious or spiritual stuff, but some higher power brought you two together. You’re just meant to be.”

Omera smiles, “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

~

Din sits Diego down on the floor between his feet and accepts the plate of pie from Omera. “This is by far the best part of Thanksgiving,” Din says as he eyes the pie. He remembers holidays with Armilda and her amazing, mouthwatering pies. Omera’s looks just as good. 

“I hope it turned out okay. It’s a new recipe,” Omera says as she digs into the pumpkin pie. 

“Everything you make is delicious.” He cuts into the apple pie and takes a bite. Immediately his eyes widen and he looks to her and then to the pie and then back to her. “Omera, oh my God.”

“What? Is it bad? I told you it was a new recipe.” 

“This,” he swallows. “This is exactly like what my mom used to make. Where… where did you get this recipe?”

She blushes and looks away. “A friend gave it to me.”

“Well tell them I said thanks. I feel fifteen again.” He takes another bite and moans. “This is seriously the best pie.” For a brief moment, he thinks about how he sent his mom’s pie to _Optimistic_ and the idea that she may be _Optimistic_ flickers through his mind. 

No, there’s absolutely no way. Absolute crazy-talk. 

~

The kids are tuckered out from a day of being gushed over and Din drives them back home with Stevie Nicks playing quietly from the stereo. In this moment, he really hates that he drives a manual. He just wants to hold Omera’s hand. “Thank you,” he murmurs to her after he has merged onto the interstate. 

“For?” She whispers. 

“Coming today.”

She smiles and brushes her fingers down his forearm. “It felt nice to belong somewhere.”

With a grin, he snatches her fingers and brings them up to his lips. “I hope you always feel that way.”


	15. Most Wonderful Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Christmas Chapter!

They gather in the kitchen for Spaghetti Night, by far the most important night of the week. Typically a Thursday evening - Fridays are meant for pizza and movies and blanket forts - Winta crowds Din in the kitchen, helping him chop onions and mushrooms to put in the sauce. Omera sits at the kitchen table, grading papers with Diego by her side, playfully smacking at his tablet. Smooth jazz music plays from Din’s phone and he hums the melody under his breath while he supervises Winta - making sure she doesn’t chop off any of her fingers.

“Hey, Din?” Winta asks. 

“Yeah?” He tosses the onions into the pan with a faint sizzle. 

“What’re you doing for Christmas?” 

He glances down at her. “Nothing, really.” Normally, his Christmas would be packed with plans from Cara and Tiff, but they had decided to rent a cabin instead. He can’t say he blames them; being alone, far from the distractions of the city with the woman he loves sounds like a dream come true. 

Winta furrows her brow and Din knows exactly what is coming next, “Hey momma, can we have a family slumber party Christmas Eve?” 

Omera looks up from her papers. “What?”

“A family slumber party on Christmas Eve? We can build a blanket fort and stay up late waiting for Santa!”

“Oh I don’t know baby, we don’t want to create a tripping hazard for Santa.”

“Okay, okay, no blanket fort… but can we still have a family slumber party?” 

Exasperated, Omera looks to Din and they share a silent conversation. 

_Would you want to?_

_I don’t want to impose._

_You know we would love to have you._

_Okay then_. 

“I don’t see why not, so long as Din is okay with it?” Omera voices out loud. 

Winta’s eyes dart to Din. 

“Sure.”

“Yes!” Winta jumps and nearly falls off of her stool if not for Din’s lightning reflexes. He exhales, trying to calm his racing heart, and Winta goes on like nothing has changed at all. In a way, he feels like everything is changing. Omera is becoming more open with him and their families are beginning to feel more united. She has brought up David once or twice, scared that she is tainting his memory by wanting to create new, but she simultaneously eased Din’s racing mind by saying she doesn’t regret starting their relationship. He is reminded, then, of how strong Omera is. She is invincible, able to weather every storm and still able to come out on top. 

~

As they wash dishes, Din washing and Omera drying, Omera finally works up the courage to ask him to her office Christmas party. She hadn’t originally planned on going, but the women had been excessively pushy and some small, conceited part of her wanted to show off Din anyway. “So,” she begins, drying a glass and setting it in the cabinet. “Apart from our family sleepover, any plans for Christmas?”

“Not really,” he mutters. “I was thinking about going to the office Christmas party, but Karga and Iggy are getting sent off on an assignment so Cara decided to rent a cabin with Tiff. It’s just me this year, surprisingly.”

“Oh… well then, could I convince you into coming to my office Christmas party?”

He smirks as he washes another dish. “I think you could.”

She looks away. “Well, there will be typical Christmas festivities,” she begins, idly dragging the towel across a plate. “There will probably be alcohol, but I know that’s not a convincing factor for you, with your health.”

He nods. 

“But, I’ll be there… and there will be cheesy Christmas songs and probably mistletoe.”

He blushes. “Oh?”

She hums in the affirmative. 

“Well,” he hands her the last dish to dry. “I think you being there is enough reason for me to go.”

She blushes. “Then I guess it’s a date.”

~

Cara throws a punch at the pad on his hand and he shakes it off. “Could you maybe not hit so hard?” He asks. “We’re _practicing_.” 

“I’m just taking out my frustrations caused by your utter stupidity.”

He sighs and accepts another punch to the pad. “I’m not being stupid.”

“Let’s count all the ways you’re being stupid,” she stops and counts on her wrapped up fingers. “One, you’re overthinking what to wear to a Christmas party. Two, you’re staying the night with her and the kids on Christmas - a big sign that you guys are _dating_ but you still won’t give her the fucking title of your _girlfriend_ . Three, you’re still planning on meeting that _fucking_ widow! Djarin! Accept the heart and move on with your life! You have a beautiful woman! What would Omera do if she found out you were emailing another woman and planning another meet-up, huh? You’re being dishonest and it’s going to come back and bite you in the ass.”

“Should I tell her?” He lets his hands hang limp at his sides. 

“Yes!” She flails her own hands for emphasis. “You idiot!” she throws a punch and he gets the pad up just in time to block. 

“Okay… but I do seriously need help picking out a Christmas gift for her.”

Cara sighs. “Djarin. You’re going to be the death of me. Have you learned nothing? _Talk. To. Her_.” Each piece of advice is punctuated with a punch to a pad.

“You know, you’re grumpy without your morning coffee.”

“This is what you get for dragging me to the gym at five in the fucking morning.” She punches him again and he shakes it out. 

~

Din feels utterly helpless. Christmas is always terribly overwhelming; he’s just not good at giving gifts, mostly because - up until somewhat recently, with the earth-shattering introduction of Cara into his life along with their squad - he hadn’t celebrated Christmas with gifts. Sure, Armilda would get him something small, but they weren’t very wealthy growing up. Instead, they would spend time together, volunteer, or do a small home improvement while singing terribly to Christmas carols. 

So, as he faces down not only getting a gift for Cara and Tiff, he must also get something for Omera. Diego’s was easy, he bought it months ago, as was Winta’s. Admittedly he did buy it a couple days ago, but it was checked from his list nonetheless. As for the adult women in his life… well, things are not going well. 

He pushes Diego down the aisle of the department store thinking of literally _anything_ to buy them. Cara and Tiff are planning a backpacking trip, but he has no idea if they _need_ anything. Can one just give a gift card for a Christmas gift? 

It’s the thought that counts, right? 

He is beginning to lose all hope when something at the jewelry counter catches his eye. Well, technically it catches Diego’s eye first because he chirps and he follows the boy’s gaze to a locket in the counter. It’s very pretty, simple, and very Omera. It’s shaped like a sunflower - for which she had expressed great adoration when they had planted them together in her backyard in the summer - simple, silver, and - his eyes flash to the tag - just in his price range. 

“Can I help you, sir?” The attendant asks. 

“Uh, yeah, can I look at this?” Without touching the glass, he points to the locket. 

She hums in the affirmative and gets it out of the case for him. He holds it up by the chain. It’s perfect, especially since Diego helped him pick it out. “This is perfect.”

“Who are you shopping for?” The attendant asks. 

“Uh, a friend,” he answers dubiously. 

“Well. This is a very nice gift for your _friend_.” He doesn’t miss her acidic tone. 

“She’s a very good friend,” he mutters, trying not to feel the stabbing sensation of the daggers this lady is shooting at him. Can’t men be friends with women and buy them nice things? Not that him and Omera are _only_ friends. They are just taking their time. No sense in rushing or labeling something that is already so perfect. 

“Cash or Credit?” The attendant prompts, pulling him from his thoughts. 

Pulling out his wallet, he hands her his card. 

~

“Din!” Winta hisses. He’s over at Omera’s house once again. He and Diego are on the floor playing while Omera sits in the kitchen, lesson planning with dinner baking in the oven. Winta rushes from the hallway leading to her bedroom and hisses his name again. 

“What?” He asks, immediately scanning her for an injury or an emergency that would require his immediate attention. 

“I need your help!”

He clambers to his feet. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Shh! Be quiet!” She waves her hands in a placating manner. 

“What?” He whispers. 

“Here!” She thrusts a crumpled five and a flashdrive into his hands. 

“What is this?” He whispers. 

“It’s a bunch of pictures, I’m making mommy a collage for Christmas, but I need you to print these.”

He looks at the flashdrive. “How did you know to do this?”

She rolls her eyes. “I am in _fourth_ grade, thank you.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll print these and give them to you tomorrow?” He doubts five dollars will be enough, but who knows. 

She gives him a firm nod, just as Omera calls that dinner is done. “Thanks, old man,” she grins and runs off. 

Old man? 

“Hey wait a minute!” He calls, chasing after her. 

~

Omera settles in to make her gift for Din. It’s not much, but she’s spent quite a bit of money trying to gain access to these. Turns out, a lot of people will look harder if you flash some cash in front of them. 

In front of her are several pictures of Din’s birth family, adoptive mother, and squad from when he was in the Marines. She can hardly recognize him, and the pictures she has of him as a little boy are more than enough to break her heart. His kindergarten teacher, who she had found by bribing the secretary at his high school (that was the one detail that she didn’t have to pay someone for, he had simply offered the answer when she asked) had a picture of his father from field day decades ago. It’s in black and white, but Din’s leg is tied to his father’s and they are racing towards the finish line, laughing. His mom isn’t in the picture, but she’s in the other one that had been sent. The kindergarten teacher - God bless her, she had to be ninety - regaled her of the story of Din’s first day of school. He had been positively terrified, but when Mrs. Stanford - then, Miss Carter - took the obligatory first day picture, he had sidled up right next to his mom and positively _cheesed_. His grin is missing teeth and his eyes are closed, but his mom looks soft and beautiful. Omera can see that Din has her eyes. 

Moving on, she had gone to CPS and, 50 dollars later, bribed the clerk to give her Din’s file. She called all of Armilda’s foster children and one had a picture of her on Christmas volunteering with Din. He looks disgruntled - probably those teenage delinquency years he doesn’t talk about - but she is smiling. She, too, looks soft and loving. Her grey hair is pinned back in a clip and she sports a very dated Christmas sweater. 

Then of course there are his squadron pictures. She hardly recognizes him here. He and a group of, rather burly, men stand in front of a sign that she can’t read, arms holding their rifles. He’s the smallest of the bunch, but damn if he doesn’t look like the toughest. She smiles at the way he is mean-muggin’ for the picture. Din would never wear that face in real life; he likes to pretend, but he is a big softie. 

Of course, a quick phone call to Cara has all of the pictures sent to her almost instantaneously. Omera’s favorite is one that appears to be at a bar. It’s a selfie of Cara and Din, his cheeks are rosy from one too many drinks, but he is grinning just like he was in his kindergarten photo. It reminds her that even though they grow old and weathered, they are still children at heart. 

She swipes through the photos Cara has sent her, downloading the ones she will print. There is one of Din looking rather grumpy on what looked like a stakeout. He is glaring at the camera, styrofoam cup of coffee pressed to his lips. He is wearing a grey sock hat and his dark brown locks disobediently stick out from under it in little curls. Another selfie of him with her, he is holding up bunny ears. Another of them at Christmas; she is kissing him on the cheek, holding mistletoe above them and he is blushing, looking rather shocked. Omera guesses that the kiss was sudden. Another one of him being kissed on both cheeks by Tiff and Cara on each end. One of the whole crew, wearing Christmas sweaters. 

She swipes again and it’s a video. Omera’s fairly certain this wasn’t meant to be sent to her, but it begins autoplaying and she can’t help but keep watching. 

“There he is! Boy wonder!” Cara strolls into the hospital, recording, and Din is laying on a PT mat, oxygen tubes in his nose. He looks very sweaty and very much like he is struggling to breathe. 

“Cara, turn off the camera.”

“No! I need to record this so I know how to help you with your exercises!”

He rolls his eyes. “I do not need these moments of my life documented. Turn it off.”

“Oh come one you’re no fun. You just had your heart replaced, you wrote the widow-lady - which I still think is a terrible idea, by the way.”

“Noted,” he interrupts and winces as the Physical Therapist helps him up. 

“And it’s sunny today, Diego ate his breakfast and my best friend is still alive to irritate the holy shit out of me!” 

He sighs, already exasperated, and turns to her. “Cara. When I’m better,” he pauses to catch his breath. “I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Yeah right, we both know I have a better right hook than you.”

“Then I will kneecap you,” he wheezes. “Put the camera away.”

“Ugh, you're such a buzzkill.”

The video stops and flashes back to the beginning with the play button in the center. She stares at her phone before she clicks play again. He looked so pale and sweaty. It reminds her of when she first met him, when she had brought over the banana bread. So much time has passed since then. She grew to be his neighbor, to his acquaintance, to his friend, to his best friend. 

She wonders, suddenly, when she had fallen so deeply in love with him. 

~

_What are you wearing tonight?_

_My red dress with heels_

_You mean… THE red dress?_

_If you mean the dress I wore to that awful date, then yes (laughing emoji)_

_Should I match you?_

_Do you have something that can match me?_

_I think I may own something festive_

_Would it happen to be a Christmas sweater? ;)_

_Oh no. Have you been talking with Cara?_

_I may have seen the victor of a certain ugly sweater contest at the Bureau_

_And you still want to be seen with me in public? Wow, I’m impressed_

_I thought it was quite adorable_

_I think the antlers may have been overkill_

_Absolutely not! Those were my favorite part_

_Should I wear them tonight? :P_

_If you do, I’ll wear my rudolph nose_

_Deal_

~

Omera shows up at his door right after Peli does and knocks him off his feet. She’s stunning, but what else is new? Her dark hair is curled into perfect ringlets, her lips are painted a dark ruby and her eyes are highlighted in shimmery eye shadow. 

She’s gorgeous. 

Obviously men’s fashion is far less flashy, but he suddenly feels woefully inadequate standing next to her. He wears simple black slacks, a dark red dress shirt, and a black tie. As per usual, he has attempted to slick his hair down, but it keeps flopping out of formation and into his eyes. 

When she finishes talking to Peli she turns to him and smiles. He nearly drops dead. He is the luckiest man in the whole world. He is also hopelessly in love, but he thinks he’s known that for quite some time. Ever since she brought him that loaf of bread, he knew he would do anything to be able to love her. 

Even if she had just wanted to be loved as a friend. 

Which, over the past two months, she has proven she is not interested in the platonic sort of love. He thinks of the tender kisses that have turned steamy when the kids are watching movies in the next room and how their hands linger after innocent touches in front of them. 

“Ready?” He manages. 

She smiles. “Whenever you are.”

He checks for his phone, wallet, and keys before grabbing his suit jacket and offering his arm to her. 

“You two have a fun night!” Peli calls as they walk out to her Subaru. 

Of course he’s going to have a fun night, he is with the woman he loves. 

~

It is safe to say that Omera’s coworkers suck. Din has never seen a more stereotypical group of women. Barbara’s a certifiable stick in the mud and Kelly made such an obvious pass at him that it genuinely made him uncomfortable. Thankfully, right when he was starting to fear that Kelly may attempt to grab his ass, Omera swept them off to go get drinks. 

So, standing with their fruit punch, the DJ plays a halfway decent song and Omera starts swaying. “Want to dance?” He asks. 

She eyes him, “You want to dance?”

He shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

A smile turns up the edges of her lips and her heart flutters. “Sure, let’s give them something to talk about.” As if her attire didn’t have half of the room whispering already. He had seen the way a few individuals were looking at her. He has half a notion to go tell them to quit _gawking_ , but Omera doesn’t seem to notice or care. 

Setting down his drink, he is led out onto the floor by his beautiful woman in red. God, he loves her so damn much. She steps closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and her perfume wafts over him. He respectfully puts his arms on her waist and starts smoothly spinning them. 

“I’m sorry everyone is awful,” she smiles. 

He shrugs. “Don’t apologize. I’m still having fun.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he smiles, and means it. “I’m with you. What more could I want?”

She beams and looks away. “I was just thinking maybe we could leave.”

He arches an eyebrow, suddenly afraid that he has done something wrong or maybe embarrassed her in some way he hadn’t noticed. “W-why?” he asks. 

“Well…” she blushes. “I was hoping that maybe we could spend some time together since Peli is babysitting.”

He nearly stops dancing. “Yeah?”

“I don’t really remember the last time we were alone,” she chews her bottom lip and he swears he may go into cardiac arrest. 

“Yeah, I mean, well,” he forces himself to breathe. “Yeah.”

“So what do you say?” She smiles. 

“A-about?”

“Want to get out of here?”

He nearly chokes at the way her eyes are glistening with a heat that he has only had the privilege of experiencing once or twice. “Yeah.”

~

They enter her home and he feels like a teenager being invited over to his crush’s house because her parents are out of town. He is jittery and his heart is racing and he can’t seem to think a single rational thought. Omera, his best friend, his _beautiful_ best friend is leading him back to her bedroom with a devilish smile on her face. 

“Are- are you sure about this?” He asks, giving her one last chance for them to just pretend this never happened. Sure, they’ve made out and gotten a little handsy, but _this_? 

He could only be so lucky. 

“Din, I’ve never been more certain.” She starts kissing him slowly. “I love you, and it’s about time I show you just how much.”

He reels back, “Y-you love me?” They’ve never exchanged those words and he never thought to say them first. He had been trying so hard to hold back, to let her make the first move. 

Her eyebrows crinkle and she nods. 

He scoops her up and kisses her. Everything feels electric. His head is spinning, his veins are alight with the love he has for her, and his heart feels like it may explode again. It is only when they hit the edge of the bed does he realize they’ve been making their way there. His tie has been abandoned on the floor and the top two buttons on his shirt undone. They break apart and the words spill from his lips like a desperate plea for salvation. “Omera, I love you.”

And they fall together, into the love they have for one another. Warm, bright, and so very alive. 

~

“Did it hurt?” She whispers in the quiet afterglow of the most amazing night with the most amazing man. She trails kisses along the gnarly scar on his chest. It stretches almost to his belly button and it looks so painful, even now. 

“Yeah,” he cards his fingers through her hair and she has to resist the urge to moan. It’s been so, so long since she has received such tender affection. Never in her life has she felt so cherished. “I got lucky.”

“How so?” She trails kisses back up the scar to his neck where she nestles in, laying on her side and listening to the strong rhythm of a heart stitched into him. 

“I was blown up, survived, and managed to find a donor within a year. Most people spend their entire lives on a waitlist. It… sounds terrible, but it’s like it was meant to happen this way.”

“Sometimes…” she murmurs. “The hardest journeys have the greatest endings.”

“Then I am the luckiest man on Earth.”

Raising onto her elbow, she presses her lips to his. 

~

Din and Omera made a great team. They had successfully wrapped and staged all the presents under the tree in record time. However, record time still meant staying up until three in the morning to get it done. 

“Mom!” Winta bounds into Omera’s room, Diego toddling behind her. “Come on! Santa’s been here!”

Din sits up beside her and gives her a lazy smile. “Merry Christmas,” he smiles. 

“Merry Christmas.” 

Din puts on a pot of coffee while Omera stalls. When he returns with two cups, the kids tear into their gifts. Din sits on the ground in case Diego needs help with any of the paper and Omera sits on the couch, legs folder under her. Din lays back to rest his head on her legs and she can’t resist running her hands through his thick, brown locks. 

When ‘Santa’s’ gifts have been well torn through, they exchange the gifts they had gotten for each other. “Okay! Momma, you go first!” Winta bounces up and down. 

Omera smiles. “Okay,” she quickly unwraps the gift from her daughter and tears well up in her eyes. It is pictures pasted together on a paper and stuffed into one of the old frames Omera had laying in the garage. There are pictures of Omera, Winta and David, but also pictures of their new ‘found family’ as _Devout_ had described it. “Winta this is gorgeous. Thank you.” 

“Din helped me print out the pictures,” Winta smiles. 

Omera looks down at him and smiles, “I knew you two were up to something.”

He shrugs. “It’s always best not to ask questions around this time of year.”

Without much more goading from her family, Omera opens the gift from Din and gasps. “Din, this must have been so expensive.”

“It wasn’t. Don’t worry. Diego picked it out.”

She beams and holds up the sunflower locket. “Sunflowers are my favorite.”

He nods. “I know.”

She beams. “Thank you, this means so much.” Subtly wiping tears from her eyes, she instructs her daughter to go ahead and open the one from her. Her daughter needs no further encouragement as she shreds open yet another package. It’s a box set of books that Winta had been wanting to read and she is elated. 

Next, Winta opens hers from Din and his heart leaps into his throat when she starts squealing. It is the solar system model that she had been not-so-casually mentioning for weeks now. “THANKYOUSOSOMUCH!” 

Din just barely has time to set aside his coffee cup when she leaps into his arms to give him a hug. “Okay! Now you have to open yours! Momma and I worked on it together!”

“Okay?” Din smiles and begins carefully pulling the tape from the package. 

“No!” Both women cry. His head snaps up. 

“You have to _rip_ it,” Winta huffs, rolling her eyes. 

“Oh like this?” He quickly pulls apart the wrapping paper and reveals a photo album. Din carefully pulls it open and he forgets to breathe. The first page says ‘What a Wonderful World’ in Omera’s neat cursive and in the center is the family picture he has hung up in his locker. 

“What’s this?” He croaks. 

“Turn the page,” Omera smiles. 

He does and tears spring into his eyes. There, in black and white, are two pictures of his parents. He remembers only whispers of them, the sound of his mother’s voice, but not the words, the strength of his father’s hugs, but not the color of his eyes. 

Turns out, they were brown, or at least something dark. 

“Where did you find these?” He whispers. 

“That’s not important.”

He looks up at her. 

“You’re a federal agent, I don’t want to confess to any possible crimes.”

He wipes the tears from his eyes. “Omera, this is so amazing. Thank you.”

“No problem, I’m just happy I was able to do this for you.”

He wants to kiss her, but instead he settles on reaching up to take her hand. She squeezes his hand three times and he knows exactly what she means. 

He squeezes back, three words being interchanged without a single word being uttered. For the rest of the day, when they make pancakes, he feels her tap him on the arm three times and he returns the gesture. And, when they settle on the couch to watch more Christmas movies, they doze off and on, squeezing the other three times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I really hope you guys like this chapter. It was a struggle to get it written... mostly because I couldn't think of what they would get each other for Christmas??? So stressful. Either way, I promise the next update won't take me three weeks XD Thanks for hanging with me! <3


	16. And Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. It's finally happening. Thank you so much to everyone who has loved and supported this fic <3 This marks the completion of the longest fic I've ever written. <3

_ Dear Devout,  _

_ I hope this letter finds you happy and well. The holidays were much better than I had anticipated. I took your advice and let myself have fun instead of constantly mourning. Now, I am focusing on keeping myself positive for the new year. Life is just so beautiful. _

_ How are you and your son doing? Did you both enjoy the holidays? _

_ Kindly,  _

_ Optimistic _

_ Dear Optimistic,  _

_ I’m so glad to hear that you were able to enjoy the holidays. We also had a wonderful, relaxing time. It was nice to spend time with my family. I was wondering, are you still interested in meeting?  _

_ Looking forward to hearing from you,  _

_ Devout  _

_ Dear Devout,  _

_ I would love to meet up! Let’s plan for the same cafe as before. Is there a day that works best for you? _

_ Your friend,  _

_ Optimistic _

_ Dear Optimistic,  _

_ I think Saturdays are the best bet right now. Should we plan for the 2nd Saturday in February? _

_ Your friend,  _ _   
_ _ Devout _

_ Dear Devout,  _

_ Wonderful! Let’s plan for 11?  _

_ Optimistic  _

_ Dear Optimistic,  _

_ Sounds like a plan.  _

_ Devout _

~

Winta sits at the foot of Omera’s bed while Omera gently combs her daughter’s hair and neatly french braids it. “Winta, baby, can I ask you something important?”

“Sure,” her daughter chirps

“Do you know what dating is?”

She can practically hear the eye roll. “Duh, yeah it’s when two people really like each other and kiss and hold hands and stuff. Gross.”

Omera chuckles and tries to work up the courage to ask her question. “What… What would you say if Din and I started dating?” She ties off the braid and taps her daughter’s shoulder, letting her know that she can stand. 

Winta slowly turns around. “You want to date  _ Din _ ?”

Omera slowly nods. 

“But, he’s like your best friend.”

Omera smiles, “Yeah, yeah he is.”

Winta chews her bottom lip. “Do I have to call him ‘dad’?”

“Oh sweetie, no, we’re just dating. Or, well, thinking about it. I wanted to make sure it was okay with you before we make it official.” She represses a cringe at her own lie. They have been sneaking around for months, stealing kisses. Only after her confession of love did she decide she should check with her daughter. 

Probably a poor parenting move on her part, but she never claimed to be perfect. 

The little girl nods again. “I… I think it’s okay. Yeah. I love Diego like my little brother and…” she chews her bottom lip again. “I really like Auntie Cara and Tiff, it’s nice having aunties and uncles.”

Tears well in her eyes and Omera rapidly blinks them back. “And your thoughts towards Din?”

Winta shrugs. “I love him like I love daddy, but…” Tears well up in her eyes. “I just still miss daddy sometimes.”

Omera pulls her daughter into her lap. “I know baby, nobody is expecting anything from you. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay with this.”

“He makes you happy, momma,” she says simply and the threatening tears finally spill over. Her sweet, sweet baby is more observant and kind than she could ever hope to be. 

“I love you so much, baby,” she squeezes her daughter closer. 

“I love you too, momma.”

~

Din and Cara sit in their unmarked car watching the perp at the corner store. They have been following this loser for a while now, and Din is starting to mourn that their thermos is nearing the empty side. 

“So… you and Omera?” Cara asks, sipping her coffee. 

Honestly, he’s impressed that his partner has refrained for this long. They  _ almost _ made it to the bottom of the thermos. “What about her?” He asks only to be thumped in the chest. 

“You know damn well what. Did you finally talk to her about meeting up with the widow?”

“No.”

“ _ Djarin _ .”

“Hey, before you kill the only man willing to put up with you.” Cara thumps him in the chest again, he groans. “We finally have a label.”

“Oh?” She asks, arching an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, she talked to Winta the other night. She gave us her blessing so I can officially say, my  _ girlfriend _ Omera. See? We’re making improvements.”

He sips his coffee and watches the guy take his sweet time buying whatever it is he is buying. If he has to guess, probably titty magazines and cheap liquor. 

“Well I guess I can’t be too mad about that.”

“Nope, not when she said one of the best parts about us dating is that she has cool aunties like you and Tiff.”

“She said that?”

“Well she didn’t say  _ you _ were cool, but she said it’s cool to have aunties.”

“Well I am cool, so.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The guy in the shop starts moving and Din starts the car to restart their tail. 

~

Fresh snow had fallen the night before and resulted in the first snow day of the year. So, Din may or may not have called in sick so that he could join in on the fun. After a delicious breakfast of waffles and blueberries, the children bound outside to start their first snowman. Winta, in typical foreman fashion, is bossing - she claims she’s helping, but both adults have had to provide constructive criticism of her ‘helping’ skills - Diego around. So far they have a pretty strong base. Winta had insisted that they could do it on their own; so both Din and Omera sit aside, letting the children impress them with their excellent construction skills. 

“So,” Omera begins, bumping her shoulder against his. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Always.”

“Would you be able to watch Winta for a couple hours on Saturday?”

“Sure, what time?”

“Around eleven?”

His heart falls. “I, uh, actually, I’m going to be busy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he swallows. “I’m meeting up with a friend for lunch.”

“Oh,” she blushes and adjusts her hat. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” He asks. 

She nods. “Yeah. I feel like we keep missing each other and we are finally getting a chance to chat.” 

He looks back at the children as they attempt to roll the mid section of their snowman up on top of the bottom. “I understand that.”

Silently, he begs for her not to pry. He knows he’s being deceitful and he’s never been a good liar. Right now, he is skating on dangerously thin ice. If she asks him outright who he’s meeting, he won’t be able to lie to her face. If she asks who he’s meeting, he might as well throw their entire relationship out the window. Omera is incredibly selfless and forgiving, but he doubts that she would be able to forgive him for lying to her for an entire year - their entire friendship. He has been casually writing the woman whose husband gave him a heart - how unbelievably awkward would that be? 

“Momma!” Winta shouts suddenly and Din realizes their snowman has been constructed. It’s lopsided, but upright. 

“Yeah?” Omera calls. 

“Do we have any carrots?”

~

“Winta hurry up! I’m going to be late!” Omera scurries around the house attempting to find her keys and purse. 

“Why can’t I just go hang out with Din and Diego?” Winta wines, but shoves her feet in her snow boots nonetheless. 

“Because they’re busy today.”

Winta sighs as Omera snatches up her keys and purse from where she left them on the end table by her couch. They trudge out of their house and to the Subaru, Winta carrying her backpack of fun things and Omera trying to keep her anxiety well-hidden from her daughter. She’s certain, at some point, she may want to have  _ Devout _ and Winta meet, just not now. Despite his letters, she’s still a little worried that this man may be… well, a creep. There is no sense in exposing her daughter to a possible predator, which is precisely why she secured her pepper spray - something Din had insisted upon her having - on her keychain. 

They pull into Peli’s driveway and Omera escorts Winta up to the house, careful not to slip on the unsalted sidewalk. She rings the doorbell and is greeted by Peli, her hair pinned up in her rollers. “Hey guys, come on in.”

Behind her, Omera hears the familiar voice of a toddler shrieking Winta’s name. Soon enough, Diego is clinging to Peli’s pant leg, shouting for Winta to come play.

“Oh! Mom you didn’t tell me Diego was going to be here!” Winta shouts and darts off to play with her brother. 

_ Friend _ , not brother. 

“Din was here?” Omera asks. 

“Yeah, said something about meeting up with a friend,” Peli shrugs. 

With a nod Omera hums, “Okay. Well, I’ll be back in an hour or so, thanks again.”

~

Din retrieves his coffee, sits at a table facing the door, and tries to keep still. Normally, he is the still kind of anxious - his entire body freezes while his mind races. Now, however, he can’t help but bounce his leg. He is about to meet  _ Optimistic _ . His entire life is about to change, hopefully, for the better. He is just grateful to finally offer his utmost gratitude in person. Vaguely, he wonders what she’s like. She’s a mother of a fourth grader, she writes with a serene air about her and he can’t help the way his mind drifts to Omera. 

Cara had once teased that Omera was, in fact,  _ Optimistic _ and Din feels another wave of panic at the thought. If Omera were to be  _ Optimistic _ then the whole writing-to-another-woman would essentially be moot, right? He was never  _ actually _ writing to  _ another  _ woman. However, that would mean he has David’s heart. 

He’s still struggling with that hypothetical idea. 

~

Omera parks a block away, just in case. She’s ten minutes early, just enough time to steady her breathing and walk into the coffee shop. Her hands are shaking. She is  _ actually  _ doing this. She gets to meet  _ Devout _ and somehow that is more nausea-inducing than the thought of getting to listen to David’s heart again. If he lets her. Would it be awkward to ask that of him? No probably not,  _ Devout _ seems like a good man, an honest man. 

She gets out of the car and tugs her scarf tighter as she sets out to the coffee shop. Pulling open the door, she scans the moderately packed sitting area. In the corner, clutching his coffee with a near white-knuckled grip is Din. She smiles, catching his eye and then slowly feels her smile falter. 

_ There was a workplace accident. I was blown up. Barely survived. My chest cavity was torn to shreds.  _

_ I got lucky.  _

_ The apple pie.  _

_ Toddler son.  _

_ Devout.  _

Suddenly, she is impaled with a memory she didn’t even recall she had. At the time, she had been too shrouded in a fog of grief to realize, but now it plays back in perfect clarity. A woman charging into the hospital, stroller and doubled-over man in hand. He was pale, barely breathing. Cara and Din. It had been him that the nurses had rushed off to emergency surgery. It had been her who had said her friend was receiving some poor vegetable’s heart. 

Slowly, to give herself more time to process her racing mind, Omera walks up to the counter and places her order. Mindlessly, she hands over her card. She’s not even certain what she ordered. 

It all makes sense. 

_ Devout  _ didn’t show when Din was in the hospital. She vividly remembers the bird nest growing above his garage door. And of course, Din, her Din would be wracked with grief as much as  _ Devout  _ as been. He feels endlessly, and is always thinking about others before himself. 

~ 

His thoughts flash rapid fire through his mind. 

_ Omera is here!  _

_ Wait, Omera is here.  _

_ Oh God, Omera is here. _

All of the jokes that Cara had said, all of his own inklings suddenly impale him at full force. He doesn’t even see her step up to the counter and order. He is too busy replaying every letter, every conversation in his head. 

The  _ fucking _ apple pie. 

Her husband, David… Or in  _ Optimistic’s _ letters, D.

He knew, he always knew, he had just… wished it wasn’t. 

~

Her legs carry her to the table, only stopping when his eyes find hers. “Devout?” She croaks. 

“Optimistic?” He answers in an equally strained voice. 

All of the air leaves her lungs as she falls into the chair across from him. This is happening. “I can hardly believe it.”

She knows before he even opens his mouth that there is an apology on his lips. “Omera, I-” 

She holds up her hand. “Did you know?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No. I- I should have put it together at the pie.”

“I was there,” she breathes. “The day you were rushed to the hospital. I was there. I held Diego. I… I saw a video that Cara had sent me about you writing to a  _ widow _ .” She sobs, she doesn’t mean to cry. She is not a weak woman; she doesn’t cry at the drop of a hat, but everything is disorienting at the moment. The light streaming in from the window is suddenly too bright, the sound of the steaming machine too loud, everything mounting and mounting until tears spill over and she finds it harder to breathe. 

Reaching across the table, Din squeezes her wrist and suddenly everything fades away. It is just him and her, hanging on in a world that has been nothing but turmoil until they found each other. Anchoring herself to the present, she squeezes his wrist in return. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I don’t - I - I didn’t want it to be me.” 

“Can I listen?” She whispers. 

He visibly swallows, but nods. He begins working off his thick carhartt jacket, and unbuttoning his flannel underneath, revealing a plain white t-shirt. A little more noisily than she had intended, Omera drags her chair around to his side of the table and curls up next to him. 

His heart is thrumming healthily. She closes her eyes. She knows, she  _ knows _ that she should be seeing her late husband, remembering the way his heart had sounded, remembering the way her head had rested upon his chest. But those memories are mute, a black and white haze that had always left her feeling grey and hollow. Instead, in bright flashes of color and compassion, she sees every moment with Din for the past year. 

How he had smiled when she brought him bread, a warm smile lighting up his face at the expression of neighborly kindness. 

How he welcomed them into his home for their first ever Spaghetti Night. He was still recovering from surgery then, but it created habits that are as natural as breathing now. Thursday night spaghetti, giggles as stories of their days are interchanged, washing dishes to the sounds of cartoons in the living room. 

How he taught her to drive a manual. The night air had been warm and the lights on the highway as they drove illuminated him in an ethereal, golden glow. She had always believed in Guardian Angels, and at that point she was certain that Din was one. He had protected her and uplifted her from a crippling depression that had nipped mercilessly at her heels. 

How his hands brushed across her cheeks the first time they kissed. She had known that she would have to be the one to take initiative with the progression of their relationship. After all, she was the one recovering from a devastating loss, it would be unfair of her to require him to push, unaware of her mental state. So she had. The children went outside to play and she had gently cornered him in the kitchen. That was all the goading he had needed. Gently, he captured her face in his warm, calloused hands, and kissed her. It was light, delicate even, and her heart soared. 

How his lips roamed her body their first time together. She had felt weightless. His arms surrounded her, his lips worshipped her. He sang her praises as if he were in church and she were a deity who promised him salvation. 

Slowly, she pulls herself up and Din musters the courage to wipe away her tears. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. 

She can’t think of a single thing he can be sorry for, so she whispers. “I’m glad it was you.”

He blinks once, twice, and then rapidly as his brain visibly screeches to a halt and he tries to process the words that came from her mouth. “What?”

“I said, I’m glad it was you. I… this… this journey has been a rough one and I am thankful to have had you by my side.”

He nods. 

“It all makes so much sense now,” she smiles, intertwining their fingers. “Your letters provided me with so much peace. It makes sense that they came from you. Din, you, our friendship has been a light at the end of the tunnel for me. You saved me.”

A small smile grows on his lips and he nods. “I…” he laughs breathily and looks away. “I was terrified.”

“Why?” She whispers. 

“That… I mean… I was scared originally to tell you I was writing a widow. And then I was scared you’d hate me for…” he trails off and motions vaguely to his chest. 

She catches his hand and presses it to his chest. “Din… This is yours. I’ll never blame you. And… I’m glad it was you,” she repeats and leans in to kiss him. When they part, she leans into his ear and whispers. “I’d be lost without you. I love you.”

She can feel him smiling and he whispers, “I love you too.”

~

In the following weeks the cat is inevitably let out of the bag. Winta, to her mother’s own surprise, takes the news quite well. She cries a little, but then becomes elated when she realizes that a small part of her dad will always live on in Din. Cara, of course laughs about it hysterically, stating that she had known all along. Tiffany merely hugs them both and talks about the strength they both had to possess in order to make it as far as they had. Karga and Iggy are mostly just elated that it is  _ Omera _ and not some strange woman they would have to welcome into the friend group. She has earned her rightful place within the crew and they aren’t about to have her ousted. 

As for Din and Omera, life picks up rather quickly. The anniversary of David’s death had been a little hard, but after paying respects at the cemetery, they were able to move on in peace. 

Now, they pack their things as they prepare to merge their homesteads. Winta is beyond elated, talking about how every night is going to be a family sleepover night and how she will never have to say goodbye to her little brother ever again. 

Both Din and Omera try not to melt at that. 

The night they move into their new home, they all sleep on the living room floor, surrounded by unpacked boxes. 

“Din?” Omera whispers next to him. 

He turns his head. “Yeah?”

“I can’t sleep,” she murmurs. 

“Why?”

“I’m too excited,” she grins. 

“For?”

“Getting to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He matches her cheesy expression and rolls over to give her a gentle kiss on the lips. “It’s like a dream come true.”

“That it is.” 

She kisses him, and he kisses her. They fall asleep that night, bodies intertwined. And when the sun breaks over the horizon they wake together, realizing that this truly isn’t a dream. In the brief moments before the children awake and chaos ensues, they watch the sunrise together and quietly murmur their gratitude for the past year. Life had been hard, both of them accepted that. 

But sometimes the hardest journeys have the greatest endings.

And this, they both think, is a pretty fantastic ending. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after :3
> 
> Okay, so you may see that there is another chapter. That is an epilogue. I didn't want to leave you hanging as to what happened to Diego and Winta growing up so I wrote a small drabble. I will note that it is a wee bit sad. It's not, like, tear-inducing sad, but just a nice bit of bittersweetness of two siblings reflecting on their lives together. 
> 
> If you choose to end your journey here, thank you! Thank you for the kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions. You all are amazing <3


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winta and Diego reflect.

Winta supposes that she never had any teenage-angst years. Looking back at her life, one would think that she would have, but she didn’t. Her biological father died when she was nine, and shortly thereafter her mother remarried. She should have terrible stories about her evil stepfather ruining her life - kind of like Cinderella, but in reverse. Instead, she had the most amazing upbringing a young girl could ask for - and even better, with the addition of her dad, she also got a little brother, two aunts, and two crazy uncles. 

She really couldn’t have asked for anything more. 

She remembers the first moment she called Din her dad, it had been a total accident, a slip of the tongue really. Her friend, Havi, rode to her house on his bike and they were going to ride together to the park - much to Din’s dismay. He was always a little on edge in those days; working on the special task force probably didn’t help matters at all. As she was leaving, she had called out, “See ya later, Dad!” They both froze, smiled and he said, “See ya later, kiddo.” 

She is pretty sure he cried once she left, because she would be lying if she said that she didn’t get a little dewy-eyed herself. 

She remembers getting her dad taking her driving for the first time. Luckily, they started in her mom’s subaru, because if she would have had to drive the truck, she would probably still have her learner’s permit. That thing is a hunk of junk. Is, as in the present tense. Diego still has that clunker. He rarely drives it, but he has fixed it up and shows it at car shows and the like. That truck has so many memories. They used to pile in it and go cruising. Dad would stop and get ice cream, and they would drive out of the city and down country roads with the windows down, listening to what she would consider oldies. Her mom would belt the lyrics to “Don’t Stop Believin’” - she always had the prettiest voice. And when Bohemian Rhapsody came on - they would all pick a part and sing until their voices grew hoarse. 

She remembers when she had her first break up - some asshole whose name she has long since forgotten. Her dad had just come home from a raid, and was still in his bullet proof gear. She had been upstairs in her bedroom, thinking she was angsty by listening to My Chemical Romance and sobbing very loudly. She knows that Diego probably told him first, but he still knocked quietly on her door, holding a box of tissues and offering to ‘talk about it’. God bless him. She knew her dad like she knows the back of her own hand. He hated ‘talking about it’; he was a man of few words, but his love was palpable without such frivolous wastes of breath. Instead, she shook her head and let him pull her into a hug. She loved his hugs. He was always so warm and was  _ just _ squishy enough that it made his hugs a thousand times better. 

“I can kill him,” he had muttered into the crown of her head while she hiccuped. “Cara’s been looking for some action lately anyway.”

She shook her head, “I’m okay, dad. He’s not worth the waste of ammo.”

“That’s my girl.” 

She remembers the day she graduated and swore into the United States Army. She had always been a woman of action. While her mother had been all patience and banana muffins, her dad had been, well, patience and gunpowder. He had once shown her the medals he had earned from his time in the Corps for being an excellent marksman. So, when she enlisted in the Army like her Auntie Cara, Din had told her to show them what a real marksman looks like. Not that she did much shooting right away; she went into medical training and became a surgeon. Now, she helps amputees with their prosthetics - she feels like it is the right thing to do after she had taken so many limbs in active war zones. 

Diego, true to their mother’s footsteps, became a teacher. He teaches English - something everyone was really impressed by, given it took him so long to speak. Even after he learned to talk, he is still so quiet, just like their father. 

“You about ready?” Diego asks her, tilting his head to the side like their dad always had. 

She shakes her head. “A few more minutes.”

Silence falls between them briefly and crisp, late-autumn breeze dances around them. Here, it’s terribly quiet. It’s a nice place for remembering, but that doesn’t lessen the morose aura. 

“You remember that one time dad tried to make milkshakes while Mom was out of town? What was it, a teacher’s conference?”

Winta laughs, “Yeah, yeah I do remember that.”

“Mom had one of those fancy blenders you're supposed to hold and he didn’t know and that thing sent chocolate milkshake flying  _ everywhere _ .”

“I remember you were just tall enough to see over the counter and it painted you from the nose up, even your hair was brown for once.”

He laughs and leans back on his heels. “Those were the good days.”

“Yeah…” She trails off and fingers the ring and dog tag hanging around her neck. She has her mother’s engagement ring and her father’s dogtags while Diego has both of their wedding bands on a similar chain. She had offered the dogtag to Diego, but he had said that they were hers - she and their dad had always shared a love for their service to their country. “Remember our weddings?”

“They cried so much,” Diego smiles, running his hand through his hair. He looks like he is about to cry too. 

“I don’t know who was worse, mom or dad.”

“Oh Dad, on both occasions. He was practically blubbering when he gave you away.”

Silence falls over them and a cool breeze sweeps through the cemetery. “You think they’re together?” She whispers. Unlike her parents, she has never been a spiritual person. Diego, on the other hand, became very devout. 

“Of course they are,” he responds, almost shocked at her question. 

“How do you know?”

He takes a deep breath in. “Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what you, old coot?”

“Old coot? You’re seven years older than me. Shut your trap, you bag of bones.”

She rolls her eyes and huffs. “No. I don’t feel anything.”

“Close your eyes.”

She does. “I swear to God, Diego, if you put a wet finger in my ear, your ass is going to be grass.”

“Like I would ever forsake your trust like that.”

He definitely would and has on multiple occasions but that is beside the point. 

“Breathe,” he goads. 

She does. 

“Can you feel them?”

“Did you take a hit of something before we came out here today?”

He sighs. “My days of marijuana-induced nirvana are long past.”

“You’re lucky dad didn’t wring your neck for that.”

“And you’re lucky he didn’t wring _your_ neck for sneaking out to go hook up with Havi when you were supposed to be studying for your Spanish tests that you kept failing.”

“That’s because I have the best little brother ever,” she smiles, but keeps her eyes closed. She can feel him roll his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, focus.”

She tries. She knots her fingers in the dying grass and breathes deeply. Slowly and then all at once, she feels a wave of absolute love wash over her. She can’t explain it, but she feels like there is a hand on each of her shoulders. 

“Yeah, yeah, I feel them.”

“God brought them together, of course they get to spend their eternity together. Their souls are more intertwined than we will ever be able to understand.”

She thinks maybe she understands. Her parents were made for each other, two puzzle pieces that sank together effortlessly, completing the once fractured image. 

“Hey, Diego?” She opens her eyes and looks over to her brother. She wishes desperately that either of them had a physical feature of their father’s to look upon now. Winta is a spitting image of her mother; even now, with her own greying temples, she looks more like her mother than she ever did in her youth. Diego, however, has a deep brown complexion, but icy white hair. He always was a blonde, a  _ platinum _ blonde, but now that has all faded away and left him with thinning white locks. 

“Yeah?” He blinks and pushes his glasses up his nose. 

“Wanna go get milkshakes?”

He smiles, “Yeah. Let’s.” He stands first, his knees cracking and popping as he rises and offers her his hand. Before they go, they both press kisses to the gravestone marking their parents’ burial sight. Together, hand in hand, they walk to that shitty truck that is somehow  _ still _ alive, and go get milkshakes. 

And, in the whisper of the breeze, the unconditional love of their parents is carried to them, sung to them in the songs of birds, and lives on in them, the two children brought together by a trauma and united by a love so unshakeable that not even death could part them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! I love you all dearly! <3


End file.
